Ferox Angelus
by Alicia Spinnet
Summary: A exciting summer that opens up mysteries, revelations and unreal relations like no other-- little do they know that this is only the beginning of a wonderous school year
1. Beginning of Revelations

Ferox Angelus

Ferox Angelus

I saw your face that night

Purity from the heart

No longer having to pretend

Ferox Angelus

I never knew from the start

I was blinded by fear

Don't leave me alone again

Ferox Angelus

I should've known

- Labores Solis Williams 

This story is based on the book series, Harry Potter, which is owned by JK Rowling, various including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other citations will be made where necessary.

You will see that works of Tamika Williams are used throughout the fic, from her pretty unknown book of poems, Oxygen. They are used with permission. I send her my gratitude and my deepest sympathies for the loss of her cousin, who is a very brave fire fighter that was killed when the World Trade Centre collapsed.

The story actually started out centring on Snape's daughter, but my beta-reader Alcedonia (miki_korue@hotmail.com) decided to give it her own little twist—we managed to combine our fic ideas, plot twists, and characters, and this is what we came up with. Enjoy! Any comments should be directed to oranged_girl@hotmail.com.

Chapter 1 – The Beginning of Revelations

"Um, nice flat," she said awkwardly, looking around the neat, darkened room. The bookshelf was neatly lined with many books, and a Forever-Blooming Snowdrop was shifting through the curtains, trying to catch some of the sunlight. Nike shuffled her feet nervously, looking up at her father's cold, black eyes.

"We'll go to Diagon Alley after breakfast," he said coldly, the corner of his mouth twitching oddly. "What else do you need besides your textbooks? Hogwarts is a top-rate school. Did they teach you anything in that worthless Australian school of yours?"

Nike wrinkled her nose, and tried to restrain herself from lashing out her tongue and throwing a comeback at him. After all, this was her new father. Yes, she had had plenty of other fathers, but this was her real one. After being moved to approximately five wizarding homes in her 15 years of life, she was contacted by what he claimed was her real father. When she received that letter -- it was like she was about to live a new life. She would no longer move around, but the cold and emotionless, black-haired man with the ice cold, ruthless eyes was not what she expected.

She expected someone who would be happy that she was coming to live with him; not someone who acted as if having their lost daughter living with them was one step away from being on death trial in wizard prison. Severus Snape, so far, had been one of the coldest and ruthless people she had ever met. 

"So, what should I call you?" she asked slowly, testing the springs on the mattress in her new bedroom. "Um, should I just call you Severus?"

His face winced in surprise, as if he had just been punched in the stomach. "Just call me—" He paused a bit, furrowing his brows furiously, searching for a name in his mind that wouldn't make him want to stick his head inside a cauldron and throw up. Does she really need to call me anything? He wondered. I've been out of her life for so long. Does she even know what really happened? Would she still want to live with me if she did? "Severus. Just call me Severus." Professor Snape sounded too formal; he really didn't want his own daughter to address him as if she were his student.

"Severus," she repeated. She threw herself back onto the bed and her black hair that so resembled Snape's own fanned out, her emerald-green eyes glittering. He gazed at them, the memories of Lily Potter rushing back into his mind, wondering insanely if Nike had any idea of who her mother was, and if she didn't, the bigger question: would he ever tell her?

"You can unpack while I cook breakfast," he said hesitantly, the emerald-green eyes haunting him. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be lost in them for a moment before twisting around and stomping out of the room.

Scowling in confusion, Nike lied down on the mattress gingerly before snapping open her trunk and unpacking. After sorting her five sets of robes, several quills and pages of parchment, her wore-out fragile magical diary, and several framed photographs of her previous Muggle and magical families, she had came across the one thing in her life that was still a major mystery.

The silky smooth fabric tickled her skin as she smoothed it over. The fading sunlight caught the baby blue hues of the dress robes, the colours dancing tauntingly, as if it were a mystery begging for her to solve it. Her first Muggle family had told her it was the only thing that survived her wrecked house; her first adoptive father worked for the Muggle government and tried to gain access to a database that would allow him to search for her mother or father's file. Surprising at the time, but explained later on in her life, they came up with nothing. 

She had absolutely no recollections of her mother; perhaps her new "father" would be able to tell her something. She made a mental note to ask him at breakfast, and stared out of the small window, which through sunlight was pouring. There was something peculiar, she noticed. Severus's small backyard held a single, lonely swaying willow tree, surrounded by a sea of dried and ignored leaves. One of the advantages of living in an all-wizarding village was that magical plants could be planted; Nike recognised the sight of a few flowerbeds lying along the edge which contained half-planted Flutterby Bushes, Climbing Roses, and what looked like a poisonous Krittlebee plant. What was Snape trying to do there, poison anyone that dared to come into his tiny, messy garden?

That wasn't what had caught Nike's eye in the first place, though. Behind the swaying willow tree, there was a bald spot that the leaves did not cover. She had expected a patch of green there, but instead there was a layer of dirt. It certainly looked as if Snape, or someone else, had buried something under there but forgot to spread leaves over it. She furrowed her brows, and was about to walk closer to the window for a closer investigation, until she heard Severus's voice, asking her to go to breakfast.

***

"Uncle Vernon, you really don't have to do anything -- I'll leave on my own, on the Kni-- the wizard's bus," Harry pleaded. Uncle Vernon flinched at the mention of the wizard's bus, and was neatly folding his copy of the daily newspaper down at the table, gritting his teeth furiously. 

"As long as none of those barking mad people arrive in our house," he said coldly, his lips twitching oddly. "Petunia and I will not tolerate another one of those visits. We mean it, boy." Harry caught the satisfied smirk of a somewhat reduced Dudley out of the corner of his eye.

"They won't pick me up," assured Harry, "None of the Weasleys are going to visit your hell -- house." Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had failed the catch Harry's slip of the tongue, where he had almost called their home a hellhole. Without another glance, he hurriedly walked up to his room, and quickly packed his trunk of his Invisibility Cloak, Marauder's Map, his schoolbooks, quills, parchment, and tore the chart of counting down to the days until Hogwarts off his wall. The day after tomorrow, he would be taking the Knight Bus to the Burrow.

As expected, Mrs. Weasley had not agreed at first. After much persuasion from the rest of the Weasleys, she agreed to comply on the condition that Hagrid would be there to meet Harry. Professor Dumbledore had owled Harry, and told him to "please remain residence at the Dursleys until the day after tomorrow. It is vital that you do, since I expect that you will be visited." Harry anxiously hoped that it wasn't another visit from Dobby; Mrs. Figg was invited to tea tomorrow and the Dursleys were more anxious than ever to keep him locked in his room. 

***

"Oh, Hermione, we're so glad you could come."

Mrs. Weasley was nearly in tears as she put her arms tightly around Hermione Granger, coming close to suffocating the girl. Ron had mumbled a sleepy hello, as had the rest of the Weasleys, except for Ginny who had already hugged her two times. 

As Hermione sat down at the breakfast table, Mrs. Weasley laid out two eggs and two pieces of toast in front of her, with a cup of pumpkin juice at the side. Mrs. Weasley wanted her to eat her breakfast before unpacking into Ginny's room, after all; it was "the most important meal of the day."

"Where's dad?" inquired Ron casually, poking at his eggs unenthusiastically. "And Percy? I thought you told me that they would all be home this week."

Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and the dishes in the sink started cleaning themselves. She untied the strings on her apron, folding it neatly before putting it away. Sighing heavily, she sat down at her seat at the table, and answered Ron's question unenthusiastically. "Your dad's been working like this everyday, Ron, it's time you get used to it. I don't know where Percy might be, though I suspect that he's at work, too –" she confirmed her suspicions by staring up at the grandfather clock the Weasleys had. Mr. Weasley's hand held steadily at work, but Percy's stood suspiciously at travelling. "Of course, he must be visiting Penelope. I wonder why he didn't leave us a note. That's really not like him, maybe something's wrong—"

"Maybe goblins kidnapped him," suggested Fred hopefully, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice. "Couldn't stand his rambling about how wrong it is to trust people so much, that they couldn't take anymore and did us all a favour and just kidnapped him."

Mrs. Weasley frowned furiously, dropping the fork she was holding. "Fred, don't joke about things like that. Frankly, I don't see how you would not be surprised and shattered at such a horrible thing that Percy experienced."

"That his boss was a Death Eater in disguise?" snorted George. "You would have to be Mad-Eye Moody to not be surprised. And let's face it – could you ever imagine old Mad-Eye getting a date? Girls don't dig that whole 'constant vigilance thing', you know."

Ginny and Hermione exchanged looks of exasperation. Fred and George had grown more and more obsessed with girls during the summer, both having a steady girlfriend that came to visit at the Burrow every two weeks or so.

"How would you know?" asked Ginny. "You're not a girl – sure, maybe you wish you could be, but let's face it, you're not."

"I have animal magnetism," replied George simply, sniffing. "I know things like these. Bill told me. Right Bill?" He poked an elbow at a grinning Bill Weasley, who looked a bit flustered and exhausted at the moment, looking as if he had just ran a marathon.

"It's not animal magnetism," Bill corrected knowingly, "it's the Weasley charm. All the Weasley men have girlfriends—well, not Ron – or dad —but most of us have girlfriends due to the irresistible male Weasley charm. Coeur's coming to visit next week. She has a younger sister at Beauxbatons – Fleur Delacour, I think? Ron, she was in the Triwizard Tournament – that Veela girl."

Hermione scowled slightly, and Ron visibly reddened, trying to act like Bill had said nothing. Fleur Delacour, he decided, was aiming a bit high – he still wasn't over the terrible embarrassment he has suffered when he was trying to get a date for the Yule Ball. On the subject of the Yule Ball, he wasn't quite over Viktor Krum and Hermione, either. He tried to avoid thinking more on subject, especially when Hermione mentioned her recent visit to Bulgaria.

"You've got Weasley charm – I've got pure animal magnetism," said Fred, sniffing. "Angelina said so."

Hermione nearly choked on her pumpkin juice as she sputtered. "Angelina said that?"

Fred gave an appraising look to Hermione, as if she should've known the answer. He grinned widely and shrugged, "Well, no, but I suspect she thinks so."

"I wouldn't be so confident," muttered Ginny dryly. "How's the joke shop coming along?" She saw her mother's eyebrows furrow in disapproval, but Fred and George were exchanging looks of pure delight.

"Well," began George, smirking, "a lot so far, but we sort of need – to experiment it, first – the Weasleys special Dyeverything Balloons – they're dye balloons. Would you be willing to – be a... experimenter?"

"We really can't dye any more of our room," added Fred quickly, "we need to know what happens when it's thrown on human skin. I mean, we wouldn't want anyone bursting in flames –"

"Oh, that's very safe," snapped Mrs. Weasley, "the dye better not be permanent. I swear, if it is permanent, you'll be looking forwards to be scrubbing away your room for the rest of the summer. And don't you dare dye any of your brothers or sisters – we've suffered enough from all your experiments. Not Hermione, not Harry, either," she added quickly, catching the eye of Hermione.

"But mum, how are we going to know if it turns someone into a warty green toad?" wailed Fred, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Throw it on yourselves," she proclaimed coldly. She turned away to look at Hermione and Ginny in a very final sort of way, and asked more kindly, "Ginny, how about you show Hermione your room and you can help her unpack?"

"Oh sure," muttered George, "you're willing for your own sons to turn into warty toads. We're your only twin boys – what if the dye makes us lose our sense of humour to add that spark to your day? The family would be bored to death by Percy and his thick-bottomed cauldrons."

Mrs. Weasley ignored them, flicking her wand to order the dishes to fly to the sink and wash themselves. 

Hermione and Ginny were walking up the crooked stairs, chattering lively.

"When is Harry getting here?" asked Hermione, scooping up Crookshanks with one arm. "I'm surprised Professor Dumbledore let him come."

At the mention of Harry, Ginny blushed slightly, but her tone of voice remained steady. "The day after tomorrow—I overheard Professor Dumbledore telling my dad that he'd cast Protection Spells on the Burrow, and I think he's going to get someone to ward for Harry."

"I really hope he will come," said Hermione heavily, pushing open the door to Ginny's room. "The last letter I got from him was filled with angst, you know. He thinks that we're going to all are in danger, because of him. I convinced him otherwise but he's still miserable. I don't know how Ron did with that, though—you know your brother, I'm afraid he did more bad than good. I know he really cares about Harry, but it's all a matter of words. Harry's being too sensitive right now."

"Ah." Ginny sat on her bed, fiddling idly with her flame-red curls. "Charlie, Ron, my parents – they all refuse to tell me what happened at the third task. I was kind of hoping that you'd tell me," she added.

Hermione's face dropped as she snapped her trunk open. "I don't know, Ginny – it's kind of personal for Harry, and I'd really hate to, you know, invade his privacy. I'm really sorry. You shouldn't probably try to talk about it with Harry – it's really hit him hard."

Ginny looked somewhat disappointed, but she shrugged nevertheless. "It's okay. I'm used to it – no one in this family ever tells me anything, anyway. It's no surprise."

"Ginny—I really didn't mean it like that."

"I know," she said, sighing miserably. "But still, I'm always the last to know."

***

"This is good," complimented Nike as she gobbled down a piece of Snape's blueberry waffle. "Did you make this?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, as if Nike was challenging him to something. "No," he said heavily, "it's Mrs. Crocker's Instant Waffles. You do have a wand, don't you? Don't tell me I have to pour you the bloody maple syrup."

"Well," said Nike weakly. She sincerely hoped that Snape would suspect that she didn't have a wand, but she knew that was extremely unlikely. The truth was, the baby in her previous magical family had snapped it in half, and she had lost all hope that it could ever be patched with Spellotape. "The baby in my last magical family – he sort of snapped it." She pulled two pieces of wood from her robes, smiling weakly.

"Damn," Snape swore softly. "I guess we're gonna buy a wand on top of all those books. Fifth year – you've got OWLS." He waved his wand over Nike's waffle, sweet maple syrup pouring out of the wand-tip. 

There was a long period of silence until Nike blurted out, "Who's my mother?"

Snape was taken by surprise. He dropped his knife in surprise, and then picked it up with his wand, directing it to the sink. He ran a hand through his greasy black hair, his face scrunching in pain. He remained silent.

"I've waited fifteen years," said Nike, with a surprisingly cold tone. "I deserve to know."

Snape decided to directly ignore the comment; he directed all the dishes to the sink with the wave of his wand and they began to wash themselves. He strolled over to the closet and pulled a cloak and a bag of Floo powder.

"Floo powder," he spat, opening the bag to let Nike take a pinch. "Take it to the fireplace—"

"I know how to use Floo powder," snapped Nike furiously, throwing the powder into the fireplace. The flames roared higher than she was, and they tickled her skin as she stepped into the flames. "Diagon Alley," she said, and disappeared.

Snape swallowed nervously, rubbing his chin. It wasn't going to be an easy thing, explaining the story of her mother. Nike, he knew and could tell, was one very stubborn girl. Not unlike him when he was her age. She wasn't going to take no for an answer, no matter how painful and how many memories it brought back.

***

"Oh, hello Mrs. Figg," greeted Harry with a weak smile. Mrs. Figg seemed older and wearier than ever, and the smell of cats scenting her surroundings. Behind him, Harry could hear the stampede of footsteps, namely Aunt Petunia and Dudley trying to get downstairs at the same time.

"Hello Mrs. Figg!" shrieked Aunt Petunia shrilly, plastering on a very fake smile. "How nice it is to see you! Come in, the teas all ready. I'm so glad I could fit this into my busy schedule. Now come in, Mrs. Figg --- my son, Dudley." She didn't even bother acknowledging the fact that Harry was there; when Mrs. Figg had her back turned to them, Aunt Petunia waved an anxious hand in Harry's face, signalling for him to lock himself in his bedroom.

Harry almost reached the stairs when Mrs. Figg croaked, "Now Harry! Stay with us, will you? Have some tea and biscuits – where are you off to so suddenly?" Harry couldn't quite decide if Mrs. Figg was speaking sarcastically or actually wanted Harry to join Aunt Petunia, Dudley, and herself for tea.

"Oh, no, Arabella, see, you wouldn't want a boy like Harry at tea. You know how troublesome boys can be – this one goes to the Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys! You're not safe! He could start attacking us all any second. See, the safest place for him and for us is his bedroom."

"Nonsense!" shrieked Mrs. Figg, even louder than Aunt Petunia. Harry felt a bit suspicious; why hadn't Mrs. Figg acted with such hospitality at her own home? Now she was asking Harry to join them for tea? Mrs. Figg strolled over and planted a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, directing him to the parlour. It was amazing how strong an old woman that lives with so many cats could be.

Harry had no choice but to follow Mrs. Figg, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley to the parlour. Aunt Petunia poured a tiny droplet of tea into Harry's cup, and kept shooting nasty looks at him. Mrs. Figg was smiling widely at him, though, and kept patting his hand appreciatively.

"Now Petunia, you know how this boy's a wizard?" she asked casually. Aunt Petunia smashed the cup she was holding in surprise, and sprayed tea in all of their faces. Dudley appraised Mrs. Figg suspiciously. However, the most confused of them all was Harry, who was gawking with his mouth open at Mrs. Figg, wild thoughts running through his mind. Was Mrs. Figg a witch? How would she know if she were a Muggle?

"N-no," stuttered Aunt Petunia, calming down slightly and wiping away the tea on her blouse. "A wizard? What's-what's that?"

To everyone's surprise, Mrs. Figg simply gave out a loud wave of laughter, swirling her cup of tea casually. "Don't pretend any longer, Petunia – it's not healthy. See, I'm magical, too."

Aunt Petunia looked murderous. Harry was gawking even more, but the events made sense. The cats she owned must've been Kneazles; he thought he was going mad when one of them handed his glasses to him when they fell off due to his rare allergies.

"It's a charm Professor Dumbledore set on him," continued Mrs. Figg, "he's protected whenever he's here, by me, namely. Lord Voldemort – I assume you know who he is? – Has returned, and Albus thought that it was time Harry knew how he was protected while he was at Privet Drive. I'm sure you've wondered why Lord Voldemort didn't simply show up and kill you," she added, with a smile. The tone of her voice was so casual in mentioning Lord Voldemort murdering Harry that it was almost scary.

Aunt Petunia didn't ask any questions. She curled up her lip unpleasantly, slamming the teapot down at the table, making it swivel. Dudley looked up at her uncertainly, his face glaring with fear. "It's been a pleasant visit, Mrs. Figg," she snapped, getting up and planting a hand on Mrs. Figg's shoulder. She directed Mrs. Figg to the door, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Go to your room," said Aunt Petunia breathlessly to Harry, "I mean it. Go to your room and feel lucky that Vernon isn't here."

Harry was more than happy to oblige. He pulled out three fresh sheets of parchment, and drew out a quill, getting ready to write separate letters to Sirius, Ron, and Hermione. 

***

"Hi, Hermione."

Hermione looked up to meet the nervous eyes of Ron Weasley, standing in the doorway of Ginny's bedroom. "Hi, Ron." 

Hermione didn't quite know why it was so awkward for both of them to talk; they had been best friends for nearly four years, but this was the only time when both of them were quite speechless.

"How are you?" asked Ron nervously, leaning against the doorframe.

"Why can't we talk to each other anymore? This is too awkward and I don't like it," Hermione said abruptly. 

"Well, if you wanted to be better friends, you wouldn't have gone to Bulgaria – and especially right after Hogwarts Express! God, if you could only see how much of a prat Viktor is." 

"He's perfectly nice, Ron – he even bought me a broomstick as a going away present. Nimbus 2001," she added, jerking a shiny broomstick out of her trunk.

"Oh, so now he's giving you presents, is he? Trying to buy you with his money?" 

"He's not trying to buy me," snarled Hermione, polishing the smooth handle of the broom. "I told him that my parents didn't have money to buy me one, so he got this one for me. Do you have a problem with this, Ron?"

"Can't you see? He's trying to – he's – I can't believe you don't see that – that – he's trying to buy your heart with money!" blurted Ron, immediately turning red afterwards. "I would least expect you of all people to fall for it!"

"Buying my heart with money?" repeated Hermione, with the same tone that she repeated "scarlet woman" last year, upon reading the article Rita Skeeter had wrote about Harry and her. "God, Ron, we're just friends. What is up with you? Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Every time we talk, we argue. What's going on?"

"Nothing," spat Ron angrily, "but I think you're just too blind to see that Krum isn't right for you. I just want you to realise it before it's too late!"

"Before it's too late?" asked Hermione, quizzically. "Ron, there's nothing going on between Krum and me. If it was my personal affairs that you really wanted to know, why didn't you just ask? Thanks for you concern, by the way, but I can take care of myself, Ron."

"Fine." He turned away to gaze momentarily into the hall, and there was thick, silent tension between the two. Hermione made a confused face, as if she weren't sure what had just taken place, but she got up and slipped through the door, her broomstick in hand, to join Ginny, Fred, George, and Bill on the Quidditch field.

"You're playing?" blurted Ron. 

Hermione furrowed her brows, as if Ron should've expected it. "Well, yeah, Viktor sort of got me interested. It's not a crime, is it?" she added with suspicion.

"No." He turned away, heading for the Weasleys' broom-shed. "Pretty soon you'll be on the Quidditch team, too, I suppose?" he muttered silently under his breath as he pulled out Charlie's old broomstick, a battered Cleansweep 3. 

***

"Are those all my schoolbooks?" Nike asked, pointing to the bulging package Severus was holding in his right hand. She shifted her feet slightly, to gain balance. She was holding a very heavy package of Astronomy and Divination instruments that kept tugging her down in her left hand, and a bulging light package of her Hogwarts uniform, and dress robes that Severus had refused to look at in the other hand. Hey, it was on the list.

"Yes," said Severus, "we need to stop by the apothecary for your potions ingredients. This way," he directed. "And we still need that wand. In the same alley at least," he added heavily.

They entered the dusty, smelly shop silently. Severus planted a firm hand on Nike's shoulder, directing her over to bins of her basic Potion needs. Nike felt slightly uncomfortable, but she wasn't in a position to do anything, since she felt like she would tip over to the left if Severus tried. 

She wrinkled her nose at the rotting smells wavering over the bins and turned away with disgust. Severus started picking out amounts of each ingredient with his wand, as no one ever dared to touch the materials barehanded. "Go pick out a cauldron," he hissed. "I can't believe you came with absolutely nothing. Not even a cauldron." He shook his head sympathetically, sighing.

Determined not to let Severus get to her, Nike dropped her packages at Severus's feet and strolled over to the gleaming cauldrons that sat together. They smelled slightly better. 

She was humming a tune to herself, inspecting the pewter cauldron gingerly, when she noticed a serious-looking witch was glaring at her with furrowed brows. When the witch saw Nike look up, she quickly said, "I'm sorry, it's just that – how old are you?"

"I'm fifteen," Nike replied, slightly confused. "Why? Is there a problem?"

"N-no. I'm actually a teacher at Hogwarts – do you go there? I've never seen you there before – it just sort of surprised me. I'm Professor McGonagall," she added. 

Nike hesitated a moment, not sure what to say to it. Severus's shrill voice behind her, however, rescued her. "Minerva? Fancy seeing you here."

"Severus. What are all the packages for?"

"Her," he said simply, jerking his chin towards the direction of Nike. "Nike," he introduced, "this is Professor McGonagall. She teaches Transfiguration. Head of Gryffindor house," he added with distaste.

"Oh, I understand now," said Professor McGonagall, still with furrowed burrows. Her tone of voice revealed that there was still some slight confusion. "This is – your daughter, then?"

Severus winced slightly, but nodded. Professor McGonagall looked more confused than ever, but she quickly exited, with a cauldron and several bags of potion supplies. Severus turned to Nike and magically lifted her packages through the air over to where they were standing. "We're finished," he croaked, "wand next."

Sighing, Nike followed Severus to Ollivander's wand shop, where the air was thick and dusty; the shop, unlike the others, was dimly lit, filled with boxes to the ceiling.

"Come buy your wand?" asked a wheezy voice. Mr. Ollivander, presumably, limped his way to where Severus and Nike were standing. Severus directed the packages over to a group of chairs, and taking a seat.

"Yes – my last wand was snapped," said Nike. She looked around the shop, all the mysterious objects making her imagination run wild. "My right hand is my wand hand," she added, seeing that Mr. Ollivander was taking out a dusty old tape measurer.

Mr. Ollivander was a tall man, even for his age. The tape measurer immediately jumped to Nike's right arm, but Mr. Ollivander instinctively bent down slightly, anyway. She winced as she heard what sounded like brittle bones being snapped. Mr. Ollivander wheezed, and pointed his wand to the doorway. He did the traditional wrist movement, and to Nike's surprise, an exasperated young man appeared in the doorway, rushing to Mr. Ollivander's aid and directing him to a chair.

"It's okay, grandfather, I'll take care of her," he said with a hint of impatience in his voice. He turned to Nike and smiled, and summoned several boxes from the back of the room to his feet. He jerked them open with his wand and several new sparkling wands flew out. "Try one," he urged. "It's a new spell I worked out. It works much better than the last one—nightmare it is, trying to sort the wands."

Nike put her hand to a wand uncertainly, and waved it in the air, waiting for the warmth in her fingers that would be there if it were the right wand. Mr. Ollivander's grandson watched with a smile, informing her on the wand's statistics. "Evergreen, banshee hair, 10 inches, very springy."

"Banshee hair?" spat Severus with confusion. Nike had almost forgotten that Severus was there, in midst of waiting for the warmth in her fingers with the grasp of each wand. 

"Banshee hair," repeated Mr. Ollivander's grandson with a smile. "It's a new discovery, sir. Their hairs are wonderful for curses. We've been experimenting with several new magical substances, lately."

"Banshee hair," Severus muttered. "The things they're dreaming up."

Mr. Ollivander's grandson must've not heard his last comment, because he returned immediately into providing wand statistics for Nike.

As the minutes passed on, Mr. Ollivander's grandson was summoning up more boxes, and Mr. Ollivander was gazing at Severus in a dazed sort of way, with a grin plastered onto his face. Nike was growing more frustrated by the minute by the lack of warmth every wand had, and Severus was moving seats.

"Ah it's been many wands, hasn't it?" Mr. Ollivander's grandson summoned another box, and wands flew out when he tapped it. Strangely, the wands glowed against the dimmed lights. "These are special wands—new experimental substances. They're all mixed, you see. Combinations such as unicorn hair and phoenix feather, dragon heartstring and banshee hair—they can be quite strong."

As Nike grasped the first wand, sudden warmth warmed her fingertips, and she smiled, doing the traditional wand flick. Nike was expecting a shower of sparks, but the shop was drowned in a sea of blue and gold sparks, lighting up the whole shop.

"I see that you are very compatible with that wand," said Mr. Ollivander's grandson, with a concerned smile on his face. "One of the latest new experimental ones—phoenix feather and dragon heartstring. I've seen it to be strong – very, very strong and powerful. Almost stunned a whole crowed with a single curse. Are you quite sure – that—it's the one for you?" 

"Yes – you saw how much it sparked," said Nike, beginning to experiment with the wand. She flicked it again, and the shop was drowned yet again in silver and orange stars. She glanced quickly at Severus, who was wearing a look of curiosity. She quickly slipped off a bracelet from her hands, placing it on the floor. She pointed at it with her new wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The bracelet levitated four feet in the air. She felt a strange connection with the bracelet, through the wand, as if the wand was controlling the bracelet's height. Experimentally, she jerked it upwards, and surprisingly, the bracelet did the same thing.

Mr. Ollivander shook his head. "You're the only one who can do that with the wand. I tried a simple spell with it – levitating one... it flew through the roof. Amazing, Severus -- you must be proud." He looked at Severus with the same dazed expression, making him squirm. 

"Are you really sure you want that wand?" asked Severus lazily. "Mr. Ollivander and—"

"Andrew," supplied the grandson. "My name is Andrew Ollivander."

"Mr. Ollivander and Andrew both say that it's quite hard to perform with that wand – are you really sure?"

"Yes," said Nike, with tone of frustration.

"Here, let me experiment with it." He jerked the wand away from the scowling Nike, and flicked the wand. Nothing happened. He pointed to a picture framed on the wall. "Accio!"

Andrew's brows shot up into his hairline. "Nothing happened," he said, gazing at Severus with astonishment. "Nothing happened. Something should've happened. Nothing happened. This is extraordinary, Severus. Your daughter – even though she is underage, she can perform the basic spells in here. When you tried that – nothing, nothing happened." Severus frowned uncertainly, his mouth twitching.

Nike had a small smile plastered onto her face, and took her wand back. She pointed her wand to an empty owl cage. "Accio!" The empty owl cage flew into her arms, without her needing to grab it. "It's working for me," she said smugly, banishing the owl cage back to its original place.

***

"Mrs. Figg – one of – one of you?" stuttered Uncle Vernon, with a glint of fear in his eyes. He kept on rubbing his moustache, and collapsed onto the living room sofa. "Get me a brandy, Petunia... Dudley – go, go do your homework. Boy, go to your room!" 

Dudley looked at his father uncertainly, and left with an indignant sniff. Harry hid his smile until he reached the staircase, receiving a disapproving scowl from Dudley. He reached his room and locked himself in, throwing himself onto his bed.

So that's how he was protected. Unlike what Mrs. Figg had said, he hadn't really thought of why Lord Voldemort couldn't just Apparate to the Dursleys residence and perform the Killing Curse on him. He had been having more dreams lately; flashbacks at the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric's limp body crumpling down to the floor, the glimpse he caught of Cho's face at the Leaving Feast. He felt guilty, but he knew that there was nothing that he could do about it. Nothing could raise the dead.

Wormtail's weak, wheezing voice sometimes interrupted his peaceful dreams, turning it into another nightmare. Lord Voldemort's gleaming, cat-like face would soon appear afterwards, his ruthless, cold laugh rippling in Harry's mind. He shuddered, and wondered why Mrs. Figg had forced her to eat her tasteless food at her house. She must've performed freezing charms on the photographs she used to show to Harry, but he remembered a certain moving photograph of enthusiastically waving wizards and witches, their diplomas in their hands, all of them smiling widely. Then he remembered that a certain auburn-haired wizard must've been Professor Dumbledore; he looked a little younger than what he did remember the younger version of Professor Dumbledore in Tom Riddle's diary. 

His streams of thoughts were interrupted as a tapping sound, made by a haughty tawny owl with parchment in its beak. He opened the window uncertainly, and the owl flew in, dropping the envelope at his feet.

Ripping open the envelope with puzzlement, he realised the parchment and envelope was like none he had seen before from Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, Hermione, or Ron. He unfolded the letter, and read:

Dear Harry:

How have you been doing lately? My family's been pretty shattered by Cedric's death, and my mom and dad are on vacation in Aruba. I'm staying with the Diggorys—their house is pretty big, and I've visited the Weasleys once from here.

Cedric's death has hit Mrs. Diggory the worst, and Mr. Diggory doesn't even talk at meals anymore. I have had some pretty fun times playing Quidditch with Cedric's younger sister, Ceanne. 

I really don't know why I'm writing this letter. See Mrs. Diggory's already planned Cedric's funeral, and all the Weasleys are invited, including you. I convinced Mrs. Diggory to also invite Hermione Granger, since I know she is one of your close friends—if you're going, anyway. Mrs. Diggory also included a more formal invitation with this letter. I originally declined the invitation, but if you're going to go – I was closer to him than you were, and you were there when he died... so if you're going to go, then I will...

The funeral's about a week into the school year. We're giving out the invitations early because—well—the Diggorys want a lot of time to prepare a special service.

This is really awkward for me to write. I hope you're having an okay summer.

Cho

He was shocked, dropping the envelope. He could feel wet spots on the letter, and supposed that Cho had cried during writing the letter. Something else dropped out-- a small piece of parchment, with the picture of a lily on the front. In delicate script, Mrs. Diggory had written all the necessary information of Cedric's funeral.

He really didn't want to go—it would be like reliving the nightmares he had. He was surprised that Ron hadn't mentioned anything about it in his letters, even though his whole family had been invited. Hermione hadn't mentioned anything, either. He supposed they were trying to avoid bringing up the subject of the Triwizard Tournament or Cedric Diggory, for his sake.

He tried to tell himself that he should've got over the nightmares of the Triwizard Tournament by now, but there was a stubborn part to himself that just simply refused to listen, and kept telling the other part of him that he shouldn't go—it was a mental war.

***

Hermione was hovering between the Quidditch hoops; Bill had just got hold of the Quaffle and was zigzagging his way to her. A confident smile was plastered on her face, the result of a week with a Quidditch maniac. She gripped her broom tightly, and jerked it suddenly to the centre, going to meet up with Bill.

Bill was smiling with an evil glint in his eye, leaning back slightly to throw the Quaffle, aiming it exactly at Hermione's left. Hermione dived down quickly, grabbing the Quaffle, sighing with relief. She raised her hands up in triumph, and did a little victory dance in the air. "Hey Ron! We're winning!"

She could just barely catch a glimpse of the flustered and red Ron at the other end of the Quidditch field, whispering something to Ginny. Ginny threw her head back with a loud laugh, and slapped Ron on the back, whispering something back.

"Not bad Hermione," hissed Fred. "I never knew you were so good at Keeper – try out for the Quidditch team sometime, will you? We could use someone like you now that Oliver and Katie are gone."

"Katie Bell? She's leaving? Why?" 

"She's Head Girl," said Fred grimly. "She wants to commit to it. Don't know how the Chasers are going to perform without her," he added glumly.

"Oh—wow, Katie—I knew she had it in her."

"Don't say that like it's a good thing, Hermione. Don' t -- ever -- say – that -- again."

"Hey, guys! Mum made cookies!" Ginny started flying down to a table, with a pitcher of lemonade and four plates filled with Every Flavour Cookies. Several glasses also landed at the table, moments later. 

The whole Weasley gang and Hermione settled themselves around the table, digging in on the cookies and the lemonade. The pitcher kept refilling itself, as did the plates, so they were all content as they lied themselves down by the lake, staring up at the clouds.

"Hey, that looks like Professor Dumbledore," pointed out Charlie, stretching his arms and legs out as much as he could in the dragon hide clothing he was wearing. Hermione sat up suddenly, and poked Ron in the side.

"Ron," she hissed, "how does Harry seem to be to you?" Ron rolled over and sat up, rubbing his stomach where Hermione had poked him.

"Harry? Harry's fine, what about him?" said Ron, moving to closer to the lake. "Look—that frog's giving birth."

"Ron," Hermione said with exasperation, threw gritted teeth. She put a hand on his shoulder and jerked him around, forcing him to face her directly. "Did he seem okay at all to you? He looked pretty depressed to me."

"Who?" asked Ron, distracted, watching frogspawn swimming around in the pond.

"Harry! Ron, pay attention, will you?"

"Oh fine." He turned around and put himself into a sitting position, facing Hermione. "No, I didn't tell Harry that we were invited, either. I mean—what would I say? 'Oh, by the way Harry, you know that guy You-Know-Who killed, and you had to watch him die? His funeral's on Saturday—you have the right robes, don't you?' What would you have done?" Ron rolled his eyes, taking his wand flicking it casually making sparks shoot out of its tip.

"I know," said Hermione weakly, successfully cupping a hand full of sparks. She released them into the lake, watching as the water sprayed out. "I worry about him everyday." To this remark, Ron's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"Who else do you worry about?"

"You. I worry that you'll fail," said Hermione, shrugging. She turned slightly pink as she stretched her legs out, taking off her socks and dipping her feet into the pond, her feet sweeping the water in circles. 

"Really." Ron did the same thing as Hermione, shooting more sparks into the water. He shifted towards Hermione slightly, a weak smile plastered onto his face.

***

"If you even accidentally blow up the house with that wand, I'll – I'll – ground you."

Severus looked nervously at Nike's new wand, glaring at it as if it had caused a whole mound of trouble. 

"Ground me?" repeated Nike uncertainly, her eyebrows raised. "Ah. I'm going to put away my new robes." 

Severus sat himself down on his favourite chair, grabbing the book he was trying to finish before the school year started. He made himself comfortable, curling up and propping the book up against his knees. He looked and felt undignified—what if one of the Hogwarts students had seen him like this? Without his shoes on, his robes stained, but surprisingly, his hair washed? His reputation would certainly be trashed. He uncurled himself, clearing his throat as he read in a proper position, sitting upright.

Nike burst through the door, her fingers gripped tightly on her wand. She raised her eyebrows uncertainly, and took a seat beside Severus on the other chair. "Severus—are there any other children in his neighbourhood?"

"I wouldn't know," snapped Severus, shutting his book loudly, "I don't talk to any of my neighbours."

"You don't?" blurted Nike in amazement. "Wow. Can I go test out the new broomstick, then? I'll use the Muggle Repelling Device," she added.

Severus, unwillingly, had bought Nike one of the best models of Chaser brooms, the Nimbus 2000 Chaser's Edition. It had came, as a bonus; with the latest invention, a Muggle-Repelling device, a compass, and a basic broomstick care kit. "I hope you try out for the Quidditch team," said Severus sourly. "It's not worth it to buy you that broom if all you're going to do is fly on it."

"So can I go?" Nike seriously needed time to clear her head, and try to pick out a good time to ask Severus again about her mother. Riding high above the clouds, in her opinion, was the most soothing meditative therapy method.

"Go, go," snapped Severus impatiently. "Don't get caught up in trouble, and all that. If you break that broomstick, you wouldn't catch me dead buying you another one. Be back around 6." Nike turned to grab her new brand new broomstick out of the closet, and smiled. She gripped it tightly, poking her wand into her robe pockets.

The weather greeted her sarcastically with thick humidity. It seemed as if there were tensions in the air. She let the broomstick hover a bit before flying up, remembering to flick the "on" button of the Muggle-Repelling Device. 

The wind whipped her face harshly, but she thoroughly enjoyed how therapeutic it was to her. She roamed over the green pastures that filled the world beneath her, her heart beating a steady, calm beat. 

***

"Ron. What do you think—" Hermione hesitated slightly, watching as Ron scowled in confusion. "What do you think changed between us? It's weird – there's too much tension between us right now and I've never been this awkward at the Burrow before."

Hermione smiled weakly, accidentally putting her hand on top of Ron's. A bolt of electricity shot through her, and she jerked away immediately, blushing furiously.

"I don't know," whispered Ron. He was turning red, too, sincerely hoping that Hermione would touch his hand again. Unconsciously, he shifted even closer to Hermione, who was sighing in despair. "It's Vicky," said Ron suddenly, beginning to grit his teeth in frustration. "Vicky. That's what's changed."

"His name is Viktor," hissed Hermione. "I really hope that's not all that's bothering you, because there's nothing between us."

Ron's heart sank, beginning to dance with joy. He turned red around the ears, and tried to smile. "Good."

Hermione looked at Ron suspiciously, but smiled. She placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, trying to ignore the electric current that once again ran through her body. Ron instinctively leaned closer, and he could smell Hermione's scent of sweat, grass, and mint. He had a strange urge to lean even closer, perhaps enough to kiss her.

Hermione, her eyes locked on the pond, didn't realise what Ron was doing. Ron was placing both his hands firmly on the base of her neck, pulling her closer. He leaned forwards and kissed her fiercely, but Hermione pushed him away quickly. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed furiously, red with anger. She was blushing, too, but her ferocity and anger conveniently covered that up.

Ron was blushing, his whole face red. He pulled away and turned around, facing the pond instead. His hair matched his face quite nicely. "I'm sorry," he croaked. "I don't know where that came from."

Hermione's lip trembled as she tried to avoid the flood of tears that she felt coming on. "Is that what this is all about? Ron, listen to me!"

Ron's mouth twitched, but he remained silent. Hermione seemed to take the silence as "yes", because she asked no more, because she got up and walked away. He felt his family's stares and eyes on him, but he didn't care anymore. He knew that Hermione would probably never talk to him again, but strangely, a part of his heart felt relieved.

"Ron," Ginny whispered to him softly, taking a seat beside him. "Do you want me to talk to her?"  
"Why would I need you to talk to her?" asked Ron in mild disgust.

"She'll probably never talk to you again."

"True. Go talk to her. Whatever you want. Just go, Ginny. Stop hanging around me."

With a slightly triumphant smile, Ginny got up and followed Hermione's footsteps to her room. 

"That's not animal magnetism," observed Fred dryly. "That's pure stupidity."

Turning around, Ron felt like slapping Fred. George was watching sympathetically, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. "It's okay," George said optimistically, "It's Hermione. She won't stay mad at you forever."

***

Nike swept over the green hills, checking her watch periodically. She had thought clearly and calmly about her mother, and how she should approach Severus in asking him again about her. Obviously, he was still a bit stressed over her last attempt. She didn't take that as a good sign.

And the mound of dirt in his backyard – she felt drawn to it, as if it had a deep secret about her mother, or something concerning her. She was strangely puzzled yet fascinated. When she noticed that she had approximately half an hour to get back to Severus's house, she turned her broom around and zoomed away.

She flew twice as fast as she flew before, therefore arriving at Severus's house five minutes early. A strange sight caught her eye – the mound of dirt had been uncovered, and it seemed as if there was a topaz box buried underneath. The box was glittering in the sun. She decided to land down in the backyard, hoping desperately that Severus wouldn't notice her.

She was careful to push a mound of leaves aside, giving her a seat to sit in without the rustling of the leaves. Her broomstick was set aside as she peeked into the full-length windows in the living room. Severus didn't seem to be in there, so she began brushing away the dirt.

"Wow," she said breathlessly. The box was encrusted with large topazes, and a rusty looking lock was secured tightly onto it. A thin layer of dust covered the box, and she blew it away softly. 

It seemed, as if there was writing carved onto it—she couldn't recognise the writing. It looked like runes, but she had taken Ancient Runes in Australia, and she was sure that it wasn't a type of runes she had studied before.

Desperately, she jerked the lock, knowing that it wouldn't open. The box opened a peek, and she couldn't see anything except dust. She caught a peek at the living room, and watched as Severus settled down on his favourite chair, opening up a book, his back against her. She silently put the box back, covered it with the dirt, and covered her seat with a layer of leaves.

"Hi," she greeted dully as she walked into the living room, her broomstick in hand. Severus made no indication that he had heard her.

After she had put away the broom, she sat down beside Severus and watched him expectantly as he read the thick book. "What book is that?"

Severus still said nothing, but turned the book's cover page over, so Nike could read "A History of Forbidden Curses, Potions, and Objects". Wrinkling her nose, she said distastefully, "Why are you reading that?"

"Because," said Severus, his voice barely a whisper, "you never know who might stab you in the back."

"Ah." She caught a peek of the page Severus was on: "The Syaman's Ancestor Death Curse," the title read. She read on.

_The Syaman's Ancestor Death Curse is a rarely recognised illegal curse, placed on enemies and wrongdoers, mainly as revenge. There are two parts: a treasured, sentimental valued item of the curser which can kill the cursed one when activated or touched by an ancestor of the curser, and a treasured sentimental valued item of the cursed one._

This practice was mainly done in the 1600s, as a form of revenge upon an enemy who had killed a member of a prestigious and rich family. Most of the time, the ancestor will touch the sentimental valued item purposely to kill the cursed one. However, there are many cases where it is unclear whether it was a coincidence, or whether the Ancestor Death Curse was used. 

"Would you stop reading like that?" Severus snapped in annoyance. "I hate it when people read over my shoulders." Nike shrugged apologetically, a little dazed from her reading.

"I'm hungry," she said, scowling slightly. "Mind if I borrow that book?"  
Severus looked at Nike with suspicion, but he said nothing when he got up and strolled to the kitchen. "I teach Potions at Hogwarts. How do you do in Potions?"  
"Not bad," shrugged Nike. "I can't say I'm the potion's apprentice or anything like that, but I passed. I prefer Charms." 

"Charms," repeated Severus in disgust, pouring a creamy sauce out of the tip of his wand and stirring it to the pot. "Professor Flitwick would be pleased."

"He teaches Charms? Is he nice?"

"Dwarf wizard. You don't see them around a lot anymore – he's half elf. Head of Ravenclaw—they would be on top every year if it weren't for that bushy-headed Mudblood in Gryffindor." 

"Mudblood?" repeated Nike, slightly surprised. "You still do that? You still, I mean—why would you call someone that? Gryffindor is supposed to the brave one and all that right? She can't be bad."

Severus sent a sharp look Nike's way. "Gryffindor's a little joke—if it weren't for the Mudblood, Gryffindor wouldn't be winning any points at all. I personally think Miner—Professor McGonagall gives way too many points to her own house. It's hardly fair."

"What house are you head of?"

"Slytherin," said Severus, with a slightly lighter tone. "Slytherin's the best house. I hope you get in to that."

"Remind me again what values they all represent?"

Severus seemed slightly impatient. "Gryffindor's the brave one. Hufflepuff are old duffers, Ravenclaws are intelligent—Slytherin's ambitious. We've got the best Quidditch team that's for sure – Gryffindor cheats its way every year," he added sourly.

"Why do you hate Gryffindor so much?" asked Nike in mild indignation. "I'm sure they're not all bad."

"You haven't met them," pointed out Severus.

***

"This is the first time I've seen the castle in July," said Minerva, scanning the castle's clear shape against the sky. "Albus—you've set out the guest list, I expect?"

"Yes, Minerva," said a smiling Albus Dumbledore. He tapped his wand against the castle door, and muttered a series of Latin words. Minerva raised her eyebrows uncertainly, but the castle door swung open before she could've said anything.

"Wow," said Minerva breathlessly, "Good thing you invested on those self-cleaning paints. The castle would've cost Argus five months of grouchiness."

"Since when do you bad-mouth your colleagues?" asked Albus, but he was smiling. They walked silently to his office, where he tapped his wand against the gargoyle, and muttered, "Chocolate raisins."

They took a seat in his office, where the paintings were more excited than ever to see real people. "I met Severus at Diagon Alley," said Minerva. "He had a 15-year-old girl with him – Albus, surely it's not his daughter?"

"Nike," said Albus, the twinkle in his eyes disappearing. "Nike. I was most surprised when they named her that – but then Athena explained to me the Greek myths. I didn't need that, but – I was still surprised."

"Albus, surely you know that it is a dangerous thing for a – powerful sorcerer like Severus, and a Seer like Athena to have a child? The child will have no control over her powers – she can destroy the castle without meaning to. Albus, are you absolutely sure that she will have no trouble in her studies and the classroom?"

"I can assure you that the castle will not be blown up," said Albus with slight amusement. "If you are so anxious, Minerva, then I advise you to pay a visit to Severus and his daughter. They live right on the edge of Hogsmeade—a short distance."

"Maybe, Albus. Perhaps we can invite them to them? Ask Severus if he can bring Nike along. She will be of value, I daresay?"

"She is only a child, Minerva." Albus started to stare out of his window with heavy curtains over his eyes, his face expressionless. "Harry has gone through a lot – I would think that he is ready but Nike..."

"You told me that she's gone through several wizarding and muggle families," Minerva interrupted with a look of concern. "That's a lot to endure. And her mother – that's still a mystery to her."

"But death," said Albus, with a heavy sigh. "Death, she hasn't experienced that yet. Minerva, I don't want to drag her unwillingly into this, but we can't risk her leaking the information. She may mention it to a classmate – we can't have that. Her powers – even if she's not aware of them yet, are deadly. She can fight a curse, easily. How will we know if she's – willing?"

"I could pay her a visit. You trust my judgement, Albus?"

"Of course," said Albus with a slight smile, his eyes shifting to Minerva. "That's a delightful idea. The meeting starts in two hours – you should go now, if they're going to be attending. I'll take care of the paperwork."

"I hope it's a wise decision," said Minerva heavily. "I'll fly there."

***

"Ginny, what am I going to do now?" asked a red-eyed Hermione. She was sitting on Ginny's bed, sniffing. Ginny had her arm around her comfortingly.

"Hermione, you know that he's liked you for a year now? I told you last year but you wouldn't believe me. Viktor Krum made him realise it, and now he's just sharing his feelings – it's just what you want to do now." Ginny thought that she was sounding way too confident for someone who had had her heart broken for nearly three years.

"I know, but I'm so confused. I think I –I think I liked him a little during the Yule Ball, but then he was being such a jerk, and I gave up trying to ask him... I'm not sure if I like him now, I mean. What am I saying? We're friends—"

That lie earned raised eyebrows from Ginny.

"I know, I know. I ran out on him. How am I just supposed to say that I'm sorry for doing that? Oh wait, I'm not supposed to be sorry, he kissed me out of the blue. He's supposed to give signals, isn't he? Shouldn't he have waited to see if I was leaning in, too—"

"Hermione. You're babbling."

"I'm sorry—I'm just so confused. You know what? You just go tell Ron that I'm not talking to him until I get this sorted out in my head. I need some time right now." She glanced briefly out the window, onto the empty backyard with a small smile. "I'm going to read." She grabbed a thick book out of her trunk, and left before Ginny could open her mouth to say anything.

Even though she had stopped crying, Hermione was still sniffing heavily, and tears stained her porcelain-like cheeks. She tried to absorb the material she was reading, attempting to drown her mind in her studies. The book was about advanced spells that combined many subjects; such as Charms that combined materials from Defence Against The Dark Arts, potions that helped to clear an "inner eye", and herbs that helped with Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall had sent her the book while she was in Bulgaria; Hermione had originally requested it a few weeks ago before school ended, but the midst of all the events following the Triwizard Tournament, it was forgotten. She couldn't resist the urge to try start on the Dark Magic charm that would sense dark magic whenever it would be used. It wouldn't count as real magic, so she had a chance to do it in the Burrow, provided that she had all the right ingredients. She didn't know where in Diagon Alley she would've found Diva's Seduction Ring—she had never heard of it before until the book had mentioned it.

She was having trouble absorbing the book, even though she was on a very interesting and exciting part – how the Dark magic sensors in the Charm would work, and who had originally created the Charm for that purpose. She wiped her face hurriedly, telling her angrily that it was there was no need to cry and she was being overly emotional.

She still had trouble getting something else off her mind – the kiss. When Ron had grabbed her and kissed her like that, she was so sure that Ron had done it before, at least, because he seemed to know what to do. The thought of Ron with someone like Parvarti or Lavender – it made Hermione's stomach lurch violently.

He tasted, mainly, of the lemonade—sourly bittersweet. She blushed furiously when she thought more about the kiss, mainly the part where she had pulled away in disgust. The one thing that surprised her the most was that there was a part of her that wanted to do it again.

"Ron must be getting to me," she muttered as she snapped the book shut and headed back for Ginny's room.

***

"Minerva. How nice of you to stop by—I didn't know you still wore those awful spectacles during the summer," greeted Severus coldly. Nike was sitting by the fireplace, reading one of the schoolbooks that she had got at Diagon Alley. She found the Hogwarts courses and teaching methods to be very different than Australia's – Australian teaching methods tended to be more of writing and understanding the methods before you tried them. Hogwarts methods tended to be trying, and then learning as you went along.

Severus invited Minerva in, not bothering to introduce Nike.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" asked a smirking Severus, seeing that Minerva's eyes were nervously shifting from Nike, who was wearing a very suspicious look, and Severus.

"Your daughter. You haven't properly introduced her to me."

"Her name is Nike."

"I wanted to talk to you about – the plan—Severus, your daughter, are you sure she – is – trustworthy?"

"You are questioning my daughter's trustworthiness? Minerva, I don't understand you. She is less likely to be a spy for the Dark side than the rest of us put together—if you really are that sceptical, she will leave the room."

Nike scowled slightly at Severus's of way of talking that made her feel as if she weren't there at all. "I'm not spying for the Dark side," she said loudly. Minerva seemed surprised. "I don't have to hear this if you don't want me to."

"Oh no, Nike—this concerns you. I'm sure Severus has already told you about your mother—"

"No, he hasn't. Delight me." Nike put her book away into her schoolbag, and shot a sharp look at a flustered Severus. Even though Severus looked as if he would murder the two of them if Minerva said anything about her mother, he said nothing yet.

"You mother – Athena, she's a See—"

"Minerva – I shall tell her when she is ready. Please do not interrupt," snapped Severus suddenly, without warning. His clenched his fist, shaking with anger. He glared at Nike so hard, that there was hardly a moment of hesitation before she got up and walked away.

"Severus – how do you know if she hasn't inherited it?" asked a concerned Minerva, feeling very tired. "Albus—he thinks she can help. You know that there's a good chance that she may have it. Won't you at least let us test her?"

"She's not a lab rat," hissed Severus through gritted teeth. "She's my daughter. You're not testing her for anything. The meeting is in two hours – shouldn't you be getting ready with Albus?"

Minerva frowned deeply getting the message that Severus was very touchy on the subject. "He obviously thought this was more important, Severus."

"You shouldn't trust Albus so deeply, Minerva. He has made mistakes. You know that as much as I do. You know about his past."

"I know about your past too, Severus," Minerva shot back. "But you don't see me parading? Look, we've all had our share of mistakes, Albus especially, but we've all learned too, Severus. Nobody's perfect."

"You don't need to give me a lesson in life, Minerva. Save that for your Transfiguration lessons," snapped Severus impatiently, getting up and gritting his wand tightly. "I shall act on Nike as I see fit. Minerva, please leave if there is nothing else."

"You are making a mistake, Severus—you will regret this—you know this. She's dangerous—you're lucky if she doesn't blow up your house right now," Minerva left quickly with a surprising air of humph. 

"What does she mean I'm dangerous?" cried Nike, bursting through the door. "What the bloody hell are you all talking about?"

"You weren't supposed to be pressing your ear against the wall, you know," said an annoyed Severus. "I told you to not listen."

"It's not very possible when your walls are so hollow," said Nike sarcastically, her face growing redder by the minute. "I deserve to know my past – it's been fifteen years. And what did she mean that her business concerned me? Athena – that's my mother's name, isn't it?"  
Severus winced. "She meant dangerous – as in danger of being locked in a mental facility if you don't start to shut up, Nike. You shouldn't bother yourself with the details of what she said. She's hardly trustworthy."

"I haven't met a single other person since I've arrived here—I think she's more trustworthy that you, Severus." Nike rolled her eyes, her hands on her hips. "I was beginning to think we were living in the middle of nowhere until she came."

"You want to meet people? I'll take you to people. Tomorrow—you are going to meet one of my favourite students. In Slytherin – Draco Malfoy."

Nike said nothing more, but quickly exited to her bedroom, her face red and her hand clenched in fists.

***

"Draco – have you actually sunk into the level of Severus Snape? He is a traitor. I warned you all year not to get so involved with him, but now it will be too late. The first person on Lord Voldemort's revenge list is no other than Severus Snape, failed Death Eater." 

Lucius Malfoy's voice was an amazingly frozen burst of air. Draco winced every time his father started to lecture, and his voice was so distracting that most of the time it had blocked out what point Lucius was trying to get across. 

"Father—it can't hurt. I'm not going to meet him personally – he wants to introduce me his daughter—Nikki or something." Draco absently fiddled with the drawstrings on his ridiculously childish pyjamas, which were filled with aeroplanes and tigers. "His daughter isn't a failed Death Eater," he added sourly.

"There's only one woman Lord Voldemort thinks is of use to us—and she is nothing more than to get what we want. Women are nothing more than mere objects and things we use to get what we want, Draco. Remember that."

"Ah. I supposed that's a lesson in The Evil Guy's Guide to Life, too?" Draco thought his father was being ridiculously serious – Lord Voldemort yes, was powerful, but he wasn't as to the point of being a way of life. He tried to convince his father, not getting than a ten-minute lecture and a threat to curse him. 

He used to hide in fear of his father, but then he realised, after the Triwizard Tournament that his mother would no sooner kiss a Mudblood than let Lucius harm Malfoy. Lucius didn't know, but Narcissa had placed a Protection Charm on Draco when he was a baby, so as long as Narcissa was alive, Draco would be safe from the harm Lucius couldn't caused him.

Lucius waved his wand threateningly, with an air of insanity as he stood in his expensive pyjamas with little pictures of ribbons and teddy bears on them, waving his wand. Draco would've been on the floor, choking with laughter if he weren't so desperate to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow, looking forwards to seeing Severus Snape, the only teacher at Hogwarts that didn't have an unexplainable disliking towards him, and perhaps his daughter too. He amused himself with who Severus might've had a daughter with; he had never mentioned her, but then again Draco and Severus had never been so open when it came to personal history.

"Draco – have you listened to anything I've said?" asked Lucius abruptly, his lip curling unpleasantly. "I certainly hope you are not this way in your classes. No wonder a Mudblood has beaten you for the last four years – you don't pay attention and you learn nothing. You can learn a lot of things from listening, Draco, did you know?"

"If I do, I've never learned it from you."

Lucius flicked his wand, and Draco lurched suddenly into the air, above his four-poster bed. He stayed in the air for a few seconds until he fell down with a loud thump onto the carpet. Rubbing his temples in distress, he asked in annoyance, "What was that for?"

"You shall never disobey or challenge one of my orders again, Draco," hissed Lucius. He spun around and Disapparated into his own bedroom, where he smiled at the thought of Narcissa waiting for him on the bed wearing the latest Wizarding Wear Lingerie Collection.

***

Nike was dressed in her old pyjamas, shifting through her covers and finally waking up to the bright moonlight streaming into her room. Severus had continuously refused to give her any more information about her mother—Athena that was her name. Athena Snape—the name sounded strange and foreign.

"Bloody bastard won't tell me who my mother is," she muttered angrily, scrunching her eyes and unconsciously starting to vibrate with anger. The moonlight was fading away quickly, being replaced by rays of sunlight. "I deserve it. And he still won't tell me."

She closed her eyes for a second, imagining what she would do to Severus if she ever had to opportunity and get away with it. All of a sudden, her bed started to vibrate silently, her covers and bedspread starting to fly off.

"Wha-what the hell?" Nike was confused now—splotches of her regular colouring, her thoughts of Severus and her anger fading away. The bed started to slow down its vibrations, and eventually stopped. She looked around in confusion, as if expecting someone that had hexed it, or a monster that had burst through the bed.

She shook her head, breathing slowly, hoping sincerely that she had been hallucinating, or even better, dreaming. She didn't even try to pinch herself to confirm it—after gathering up all her covers and bedspread, she slid into a peaceful, calm sleep.

***

"Severus. I'm glad you came." Albus set down his quill and rubbed his eyes softly, sighing heavily. Only three-quarters of the people invited had managed to come, and some of them were the most vital parts of the plans and assignments he had been working on. "I see you've brought a large batch of Veritaserum."

"Just like you requested, Professor." He nodded dully. "I hate to defy your wishes, Professor, but I will not allow my daughter to be caught in this war. It is far to dangerous for a child such as herself."

"So it's her safety that is the issue. Severus – why do you always insist on calling me 'professor'? I am older than you but not by such a considerable amount." Albus's eyes were twinkling with amusement.

Severus raised his eyebrows uncertainly. "And what would you say is an 'considerable amount'?"

Albus chuckled softly, his mood surprisingly light for a plan of attack against the most feared sorcerer in the world – Lord Voldemort. "I would understand if your reason for excluding your daughter in this mission is a matter of safety, but Severus – if you are only trying to erase your past, it is not a wise decision."

Severus looked at Albus, thinking about the mistakes that Albus had made in his past, and his lips played on an uncertain smirk. It wasn't like him to smirk in front of someone he greatly respected, but he really didn't know what had come over him. Seeing that Albus was looking at him suspiciously, he dropped it. 

Albus swept his eyes over the people who were socialising enthusiastically with each other. He cleared his throat, and immediately a hush fell over the crowd. He conjured up chairs in a half-circle, with his desk on the side. "This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix has officially begun." Fawkes the phoenix was staring at each member uncertainly, shuffling his feathers, certainly unaware of the difference he had made to Albus in naming their organisation.

"For security measures, everyone will be given a dose of Veritaserum, and be tested to see if anyone has used Polyjuice Potion to sneak in here. Please, do not be alarmed, this is only a simple security measure that will spare many people's worries." Albus tapped his wand against the cauldron that Severus had brought, and small goblets containing a sourly sweet, yellow substance flew themselves to each member's hand. 

Albus began to ask each member quickly if the member were a spy for Lord Voldemort and the True-Forms Potion Severus had added to the potion would've returned someone using Polyjuice Potion to their true form, but fortunately, no one was pretending.

"Please. You have already received your assignments – as I recall, I visited all of your houses separately and I hope that all of you remember what they are. Some of your assignments are already done – please report to me right now. Arthur, how about you first?"  
"I've already placed all the hexes and curses, exactly as you had directed me to, Albus. I've to practise warding for Harry, since I will be picking him up tomorrow." Arthur Weasley smiled tensely, a little more widely than he had meant to.

"Good, good," said Albus with an extremely delighted smile on his face. "Thank you. Remus—how did your assignment turn out? Negotiations are not a simple task, and I thank you."  
"No, you shouldn't thank me," said Remus Lupin wearily. He pulled out a wrinkled sheet of parchment from his robes and read, "The Werewolves Association of Britain will be glad to be of use to the extremely important mission the Order of the Phoenix has. We will be very delighted to join forces, on the grounds that discrimination and all differences are to be put aside." He shrugged and added, "I told them that no one here has ever been of a discriminatory nature to me—" he looked around, and his eyes settled on Snape for a moment, before he continued. "And that they would certainly not be discriminated in any sense."

"Excellent." Dumbledore set a Quick Quotes quill to the piece of parchment, but the quill wasn't the usual green – it was a baby blue hue. The quill, instead of writing what was happening, wrote down what each person said. Remus handed the piece of parchment over to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore left it on his desk before continuing to ask the next person for their assignment.

"Arabella—I know informing Harry of your witching nature wasn't an easy thing, that's why I must commemorate you—"

"Albus, I didn't tell him about that. It was quite hard talking to him with his very nosy and boring aunt, and I couldn't very well tell him about what I – am. I'm sorry Albus, I'm sure it would've frightened the Dursleys. The poor Muggle's son turned the table over when he turned around to run away." Arabella stared at Albus with a sad look in her eyes, and sighed wearily. "I just couldn't do it. Arthur – perhaps you could...?"  
Arthur blinked blankly, but a nudge from Mungundus Fletcher made him gasp in surprise, and he smiled weakly. "I'm sure I could just – casually drop it in, sure Arabella."

Arabella looked at Arthur with a new look of uncertainty, but mentioned nothing nonetheless. "Thank you."

"Sirius Black – I explained of his innocence last meeting, and I'm sure all of you will not be alarmed of him anymore. He is on still on a mission. After him is – Percy Weasley. Percy – after all the tragic events last year, I was surprised you wanted to help. How far are you on persuading Mr. Fudge that Lord Voldemort really has risen?"

Percy winced at the mention of Lord Voldemort, but smiled politely and pulled out thick sheets of parchment, which Albus supposed, was his full report. "Mr. Fudge is fully convinced that we are safe from You-Know—the wizarding terror. I handed him a full report and many persuasive arguments that convinced his secretary that he was back, but he wasn't fully convinced at all. I later tried to make him realise that his niece was taken by Lord Vol-Voldemort – the one who went missing a week ago? He didn't believe me, and seemed to be convinced that you had something to do with it." Percy coughed uncomfortably, handing Albus the whole stack of papers.

"Very – detailed, Percy. Wow, this is more than I expected." Percy smiled widely at how pleased Albus seemed, and his mood seemed lighter. He sat up straighter, straightened his glasses. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Goodness, I feel like a professor again—let's see, yes, that's right, those are all the assignments I'm expecting today. Let's see, yes, Mungundus, how is your assignment doing so far?"

"Very, very well, Albus. It's progressing much sooner than I expected." Mungundus smiled sheepishly, blushing slightly at the sight of all the eyes on him. 

Snape snickered silently, having to go to the school with someone that had eerily reminded him of Neville Longbottom. He had simply come to the meeting just because he was invited, and his mission was so private that Albus hadn't mentioned it to anyone else. Well, no one would know each other's missions, since he had added a drop of amnesiac that would erase their memories of which assignment was whose, in case they got captured and was tortured to tell the truth. 

***

"Wake up. You wanted to see a person; you're meeting Draco Malfoy. I'm giving you half an hour to get ready—we're meeting at the Hogsmeade pub. Get up already, will you?" Severus's annoyed voice was the first thing Nike woke up to. She fluttered her eyes open, to meet the cold eyes of Severus's.

"Alright, alright. I'm getting up. Will you please leave?" snapped Nike impatiently, pulling out one of the new robes Severus had unwillingly purchased for her, one of the latest styles with 3/4th sleeves and a light pastel shade.

Severus didn't say a thing when he spun around and left, slamming her door shut with a loud bang. Nike made a face, and quickly changed.

"You woke up too late. You're not getting any breakfast." The truth was that Severus had ran out of the magical Mrs. Crocker's Pancake Mix—he didn't know any other breakfast foods that could be made as easily as the pancakes. He felt his own stomach rumble in frustration, and massaged it gently.

Nike's eyes shifted suspiciously to Severus, and then to the kitchen. "Draco – please don't tell me he's like you."

Severus almost smiled. "You'll be hugely disappointed. I told him that he would show you around Hogsmeade. He's very popular around Hogwarts."

"I'm sure," she mumbled. Severus handed her the cloak, and they started out miserably on foot. Severus wrinkled his nose at Hogsmeade's rural areas, crowded with poor families selling their potions and such. Nike gazed around curiously, vaguely aware at the looks that villagers gave her— the looks that clearly said, "you're one of the who look down on us. How dare you come to watch us suffer?" 

Severus swept through the markets quickly, and they arrived at the edge of the shop alley of Hogsmeade. "Can we stop at Honeyduke's?" asked Nike breathlessly, gazing at the amazing array of appetising sweets at the shop window.

"We're meeting him at the pub." Severus and Nike finally arrived at a solitary looking pub, the smell of Butterbeers drifting out of the door periodically. The people in there were merrily chatting, the bartender expertly mixing drinks at the back.

"Draco." A thin boy sitting in the shadows turned around, his silvery white blonde hair contrasting sharply with the shadows. 

"Professor Snape. This is your—daughter?" Draco sniffed uncertainly, examining Nike from head to toe, from her thick wavy auburn hair and haunting emerald eyes, framed by thick lashes melodramatically. "She has your—type of hair," he said finally.

"This is Nike." Severus literally pushed Nike over to Draco's table, pushing against her to sit down. "Nike, I'll meet you here in the afternoon. I trust you two will get along. Draco... nice seeing you." He nodded swiftly to Draco's direction, and left Draco and Nike in a very awkward position.

"Snape named you after American trainers?" Draco snickered, after taking a slow sip of his thick Butterbeer.

"No, my mother named me after the Greek goddess of victory." Nike could've smiled at the thought of finally knowing something about her mother, but something about the ice behind Draco made her feel very uncomfortable. "Can I have an iced cocoa, please?" The waiter rolled his eyes impatiently, and signalled the bartender, who conjured several pre-made iced cocoa from the pub's back supply, and the waiter summoned it to Draco and Nike's table.

"You don't seem like the Butterbeer type," observed Nike softly, trying to smile.

"You don't know me."

"You look like a more—Firewhisky type."

"I would be if Madame Rosmerta hadn't decided to label me as severely underage." Draco had to smile. Rarely had people spoke so boldly in his presence, especially not Crabbe and Goyle. They just normally believed in whatever Draco did—he was pretty sure that he had almost convinced them that Professor Snape would certainly not mind if they went into class in their teddy bear pyjamas.

"Firewhisky makes your breath extremely disgusting--," said Nike, wincing as she remembered how her first foster wizarding father had tried to lie and say that he really wasn't at the village's most sleazy bar, trying to pick up women.

"I'm used to it. Crabbe and Goyle refuse to brush their teeth unless I remind them." Draco answered coolly.

"My father told me that you're very – popular around Hogwarts." The sentence had almost been a question, but Nike decided that she really didn't need to be someone' s sidekick in Hogwarts.

"You might call it that. Some people are just afraid of me, I suppose." 

"Afraid of you?"

"Afraid that I'll hex them."

"Should I be scared?"

"Not at all. You're Professor Snape's daughter—he would kill me."

***

"Harry Potter's at Hogwarts?" asked Nike with mild surprise. Severus had never mentioned Harry Potter before, and Nike, knowing Severus's intentions, was almost sure that he would've mentioned it with great pride. But he hadn't mentioned a word.

"He's not like the world thinks he is," said Draco, nodding. "The world thinks that he is a great role-model for all those little wizards out there, but he breaks more rules than all the Slytherins put together, and he's so boastful that they almost kicked him off the team."

"Team?" 

"Quidditch team," answered Draco impatiently. "He's a real jerk, basically."

"Really. My father's never mentioned him before," wondered Nike with slight curiosity. "I wonder why."

"Your father's not so fond of Potter himself, Nike," said Draco, smirking unpleasantly. "He's the only teacher that treats Potter like what he deserves to be treated as—a good-for nothing piece of—"  
"As much as I agree with you, Mr. Malfoy, my daughter and I must leave now." A surly looking Severus was standing behind them eerily, and Draco spun around in surprise. "No need to be surprised. I told you I would be back at this time."

"Severus." Nike scanned Severus uncertainly, and bit her lip.

Draco shot up his eyebrows in surprise—hardly anyone he knew had ever called Professor Snape by his first name. Nike moved slowly towards Severus, uncertainly, as if he was out to hurt her.

"Bye, Draco." Nike said in a small voice, her lips making a small attempt to smile weakly. "I guess I'll see you at Hogwarts, then?"

"I hope you get in Slytherin. It would be such a shame if a person like you were to be placed in Gryffindor." Draco hesitated a while before adding quickly, "That's the closest thing to a compliment you're ever going to get out of me."

"Goodbye, Draco. Tell your father I said hello." Severus placed a firm hand on Nike's shoulders, turning her around and muttering silently under his breath. Nike's stomach sunk heavily, gazing up intently at Severus's face.

Severus frowned heavily. "I see you have made friends with him."

"I don't want to get in Slytherin." 

"Your only choice to be superior – you throw it away." Severus shook his head disapprovingly, and his grip on Nike's shoulder was so tight he was literally squeezing it.

Nike shrugged his hand off, and replied, her lips pursed. "I'll get in whatever house I want."

"Your choice. Why should I care?"


	2. Betrayals and Hope

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All poems on this fic are works of Labores Solis Williams, from her book of poems, Oxygen. 

Author's Note: This chapter has to do with the past. Everything in this chapter has happened in the year 1981. Present-day in the story is the year 1995. Thanks to my beta-reader and all the people who reviewed the last chapter. Sorry it's taken such a long time, but both Chapters 2 & 3 are up this time.

** __**

Chapter 2- Betrayals and Hope

"My Lord… there is more than simply the food that I invited you to my manor." Xandra Sinclair peeked at Lord Voldemort, her hands fidgeting under the table nervously as she opened her mouth again. "I'm… I'm…" She hesitated, fearing desperately that Lord Voldemort would not even bother to show mercy—if he didn't even bother to show the weakest, oldest muggles any, what chance did she have? Even asking Lord Voldemort to accept her marriage to Adonis, who was a Muggle-born was quite a stretch to his limits.

"Pregnant." The last word stood in the air for a few seconds, but it seemed like hours that Lord Voldemort was glaring coldly at Adonis and Xandra. 

"I did not approve of your marriage," he spoke, every world clipped with chilling icy razors. "Yet you went ahead with it anyway. I had no choice but to accept it. You are one of my closest servants. Yet, you choose to have a child, whom will destined to bear the load of the Death Eaters on their back, with this commoner?" He looked at Adonis, and the blond young man squirmed under his gaze.

"I will not take this," he said promptly, ignoring the pained look on Xandra's face. "I will not have the child live." He placed his fork down on the plate with a clatter, and spoke again. "Only approved marriages can produce successful future Death Eaters to carry on the fate. Your child will be nothing more than a weakling."

"Lord… My Lord… Please," pleaded Xandra, with desperation glinting heavily in her eyes. "It is now nothing more than a child. I only wish for the child's life... so that it may live. I know of Muggles who would be more than pleased to take in the child—my Lord, please…"

"You _dare_ defy _me_?" Lord Voldemort asked, expecting no answer. "The child will be killed as soon as you have given birth. I shall send a messenger and I expect no resistance. If that is all you invited me here for, my business is done here. Good-bye—I expect to see you two at the next meeting."

He Disapparated in his seat with a soft pop and Xandra exasperatedly cried out onto Adonis's shoulder. "Maybe the baby will die after it's born... or we can just pretend that," Adonis suggested softly, patting his wife's hair lovingly.

"He'll know," Xandra choked softly. "He knows everything. We can't run from this one, Adonis."

***

**_11 months later…_**

"This is… our baby!" said Xandra in a hushed voice, stroking the baby softly. "Adonis… she's beautiful!"

"What did you expect from us?" asked Adonis with surprise. "With us as parents, our baby can't be ugly!" He stopped and looked down to the baby, "And that's the reason I don't want it… _her_ to be killed by the Dark Lord."

"Of course not," replied Xandra, "Too bad it's not a regular baby, if it was, then we wouldn't be stuck in this situation…"

"Stop calling the baby 'it'," said Adonis with annoyance. "She's a girl… and … well… she is a… half-breed… it's what happens when you cross the undead with humans… I didn't expect her to live that long with Voldemort alive, you know. And we should name it—_her_—"

"But she's about to get killed!" cried Xandra, exasperated. "His messenger will be here any minute… what's the whole point of it, then? We'll only get… emotionally… attached and then when it gets killed… Where will we be? We can't do this, Adonis. Just put it on the bed and wait for the messenger! I can't bear this."

"Have a heart, Xandra," whispered Adonis. He examined the sleeping baby for a few moments, and set his gaze on Xandra for a long before he spoke. "Atlanta. Definitely Atlanta."

"Atlanta? Where'd you get that?" asked Xandra quizzically, folding her arms and turning away from his gaze. "Are you simply refusing to name _it _something else more decent?"

"_Her_ name is Atlanta." 

"_She_ doesn't have a name. She's just a baby." Xandra gritted her teeth, and pushed the baby away when Adonis offered it to her. 

"She's _our_ baby."

"The messenger's going to be here any minute – cherish it all you want now," said Xandra stubbornly, her eyes locked on the entrance of her bedroom, her lip quivering.

"I can't believe you're acting like this," Adonis said, silently awestruck. "This is _our_ baby. It's not some orphan we picked off the street. This is something that we both had a part in making… this is our _baby_. She's your daughter. She's my daughter. I can't believe you can just push her away like this."

"I _told_ you," Xandra hissed. "She will _die_. What's the point of – _loving_ and--_cherishing_ something if it's just going to disappear from your world in the flash of light? What's the point of that?"

Adonis didn't answer her question, but he shook his head softly, subtle tears beginning to roll down onto his porcelain cheeks. He was so involved in the moment that he hardly noticed when a cloaked blonde young female Death Eater had Apparated into the bedroom.

"Hello," she greeted, not bothering to pull down her hood. "The Dark Lord has sent me to destroy the half-breed."

"Her name is Atlanta," insisted Adonis, stroking the dark red hair that swept over the baby's head gently. "Is it at all possible for the Dark Lord to understand the… joy of seeing something new come to take its first breath?"

"I am not here to discuss such _trashed_ philosophy," said the Death Eater softly, gazing at the baby. "I have come here to dispose of the half-breed. If you are not willing to hand it over, the Dark Lord will have to deal with it personally and he will not show anymore mercy."

"Just kill it," cried Xandra, startling the Death Eater slightly. "Please, do what you have come to do, and kill the mutt."

"I don't understand why you are not willing to give up the worthless mutt—but nevertheless, I have been sent here on a mission." From her pocket, the Death Eater pulled out a wand and directed it at the baby. 

"Avada Keda—" 

"Don't, please, don't," cried Adonis, throwing himself in front of the baby, providing a barrier between her and the Death Eater. "Please don't kill our baby… please, if there is anything decent you will do in your life, please… spare this life…"

"_You're_ asking for mercy? Have you no idea how incredibly foolish you are right now? Lord Voldemort has expressly forbid me from showing mercy." the Death Eater gave out a short, harsh laugh, and said the fateful words, her wand pointed directly at Adonis. He crumbled onto the floor lifelessly his arms still entangled around the baby.

Xandra stared at the Death Eater with unbelievable intensity, finally realizing how patronizing it was to watch the only one you loved in the world die trying to protect the baby that was to be killed. It wasn't the same as Muggles dying without knowing what was fully going on, but she was sure it hurt just as much.

"I give up," she said in a quiet voice. "I give up. Kill me now. If you don't, my conscience—I assure you—will take over… I will betray the Dark Lord… please kill me now if you want to prove your loyalty. Prove your obedience to the Dark Lord… prove the loyalty I never had. Narcissa—just promise me you'll save the baby."

"You were a good Death Eater," the Death Eater said sadly. "You don't deserve this. Just let me kill the mutt, and you won't die like your Mudblood boyfriend."

"No," said Xandra painfully. "I can't watch the kid die. He already named her… you know that he already named the kid? How are you supposed to leave a child that your husband's already named? It's impossible, but if you don't kill me… I _will_ betray the Dark Lord."

"Then it's the end for you, Xandra," said the Death Eater, sighing pitifully and directing her wand to her face. "Your vampire army will be proud. You died in honor." 

"_Corpus Solvus_." Almost instantly, Xandra's body dissolved into a black mist, and it eventually disappeared in the air. Finally pulling down her hood, Narcissa Malfoy picked up the baby and was about to point her wand to its head, but she felt a strange urge to pull it back and take the baby into her arms.

She started to question her own loyalties, but she felt her heart melting when the baby's eyelids fluttered open and showed Narcissa her deep, warm blue eyes. "I can't do this," Narcissa murmured, and before she could change her mind, she pulled her hood over her head and swiftly headed to the last place she ever thought she would be.

***

"Severus. Severus, open up…" yelled Narcissa, pounding on the large, wooden door. "Severus, I know you're in there. It's Narcissa. Open up!" There was a long moment of silence, and then clicking sounds and noises of a doorknob turning from the other side could be heard.

"Narcissa. What are you doing? It's 12:00 AM… Don't tell me you've lost your sense of time, too." Severus Snape's head peeked out from behind the door, wearing a very annoyed expression.

"It's not like you were sleeping, you know," Narcissa pointed out. "Let me in. I've got to talk to you."

"At 12:00 o'clock in the morning? Makes you wonder what you're up to—fight with Lucius?" said Severus, not moving to remove the magical chain on his door.

"I'm not here to sleep with you," said Narcissa sourly. "Let me in. It's about business. Death Eater business."

At the mention of Death Eaters, Severus's face dropped. "What about it? Do you have a message from the Dark Lord?"

Narcissa paused before speaking. "It's not a message. More of a proposition—you can hear it once you let me in." Without hesitating, Severus removed the chain with his wand and let Narcissa slip in.

His uncomfortably neat living room was illuminated eerily with the moonlight; shadows crawled over the furniture and the neat stacks of Dark Magic books.

"Xandra and Adonis—I was forced to kill their baby," she started slowly. "Adonis refused to give up the baby—I killed the Mudblood, of course, but Xandra made me promise to save her baby—before I was... forced to kill her."  
"And what part do I play in this oh-so-tragic story?" 

"I want you make a Cloning Potion."

"Cloning Potion? What for?"

"To clone the baby—what else? If I clone it, then the original baby lives and the clone dies. I can't let this baby die, Severus—I made a promise to the parents—"

"So you'd rather betray the Dark Lord?"

"I know you've decided to betray us, too. I know you're planning to run to Dumbledore. I'm not blind."

There was a long, awkward moment of silence in which Narcissa was sure that she had gotten through to him. "I won't betray your secret if you make the potion," she said with gently. "I promise I won't tell him if you make the potion for me."

"It's a hard potion," said Severus, looking very sunken. "I'll need a hair, a piece of the baby's nail, a piece of its skin, and a drop of its blood. The time is just right to pick out those Firefly bushes, though."

"Thank you."

Narcissa stood in eerie silence and froze herself into sitting on the couch and watching as Severus brought out his cauldron and started to expertly mix a bunch of ingredients, periodically peeking into his book of Dark Potions. Strangely, the baby never made a sound as it slept, nor did it move to switch sleeping positions. She suspected strongly that the baby's mixed ancestry was to blame for it, for vampires never made a sound or moved when they slept.

"The potion is ready," said Severus, his voice somewhat uneasy. "I need a piece of her hair, nail, skin and a drop of her blood. Are you sure the baby will agree?"

"I hope so. The hair is the easiest." Narcissa, inhaling deeply, picked a fine hair and plucked it off. "Hair." She handed it to Severus's outstretched hand, and watched as he placed it into the sizzling cauldron.

"A piece of her nail." Shuddering, she placed the baby's left hand into her palm, and using a nail clipper she conjured with her wand, clipped off a tiny part of the delicate nail. Severus picked it up gingerly, and dropped it into the cauldron, mesmerizing him as it sizzled and bubbled.

"The skin. God, how are we going to do that?" Narcissa rubbed her chin, and stared up at Severus expectantly, but he gave no condolences. 

"Just hurry up—we have to make this within an hour." He watched the cauldron sizzle and engulf the room into an eerie green light. "The potion is ineffective if we even stray one second out of the time limit."

"Okay... curses, curses. Severus, you do this—I have no idea how we're going to get a piece of skin off her without hurting her—"

Severus shook his head sympathetically. "I can't promise this won't hurt your little mutt," he muttered. He traced a tiny circle on the baby's right arm with his wand, constantly muttering the word "_excorcio" _until there was a red circle marking where his wand had been. He tapped on it one last time, and the skin, horrifyingly, jumped into Severus's outstretched hand.

"It's a form of muggle torture," he explained, dropping the skin into the cauldron and watching steam rising out of it steadily. 

"Blood next— wait. How are we going to do this? She _has_ no blood_." _Narcissa pressed against the spot where Severus's wand had taken out the skin, and unsurprisingly, nothing was coming out of the wound. "She's got to drink someone's blood," she said, smiling at Severus innocently. 

"_You're_ the one who wants to save her," pointed out Severus. "I'm not giving her my precious blood. Snape blood is very rare, you know. I'm not just giving that up."

"Come on, Severus, I know you had feelings for me in Hogwarts days," teased Narcissa.

"Hey, as much as I appreciate it, my wife and I just got separated," he protested. Narcissa's face dropped immediately, and she mumbled a quiet apology.

"Fine, fine, I'll donate my blood to her," Narcissa said, seeing the sunken look on Severus's face again. "What are you going to do with your daughter? Have you seen her since?"

"Look, just hurry up and get the blood—you're not here for a social gathering. Save those for the Death Eater meetings," Severus snapped, pointing his wand at the pulse point on her wrist. 

"I don't need you to make me bleed, thank you very much," mumbled Narcissa, muttering, "_Vulnus_." Blood began to prickle out of a single point on the pulse point of her wrist, and she gathered it up with a vial. She softly pulled the baby's jaws open, and rubbed her forehead, making the baby's eyes flutter open in startle. The blood dribbled down the baby's throat, and quickly, Narcissa pointed her wand to the baby's wrist's pulse point, and commanded, "_Vulnus._"

A single drop of blood came out, but it was all they needed. Severus gathered it up carefully with another vial, and dropped it into the bubbling cauldron. 

The cauldron now engulfed the room in a dazzling golden light, making Narcissa breathless for a few moments. "Place the baby in," Severus commanded. "Take off its clothes and put the baby in."

Mesmerized, Narcissa peeled the clothing the baby was wearing, and dipped it into the cauldron. "Are you sure it will fit?" she asked, distracted. The baby seemed to not take notice of where it was about to be dipped into, as it looked around with interest and curiosity, and giggled happily.

"Oh it will," assured Severus, rolling the sleeves of his robes up and dipping his wand into the cauldron. 

"_Terra, ventus, incendia, aqua_

Ego dico illa elementum

Ut pario effingo au is creatura," he chanted, peeking at the open Dark Potions book. The cauldron emitted a bright green beam of light onto his living room ceiling, and a loud screeching noise hit their ears with a startle.

"It's working?" Narcissa said impatiently, looking up at Severus.

Severus merely nodded, rubbing his chin in distress. "Really quite a long wait. Are you just going to take the clone and go? The Dark Lord will wonder why you are so late. I hope you have a good reason."

"I shall tell him that I had trouble getting there in the first place—they set wards… and I erased them on my way out," explained Narcissa patiently. "It will work. And that Xandra and Adonis put up quite a struggle."

"It worked with the other attacks—isn't it time he got suspicious?" Severus wondered.

"No, he trusts me," Narcissa said, cocking an eyebrow. "And no, I'm not sleeping with him."

"The Dark Lord trusts you," chuckled Severus. "See, the irony lies in the word 'trust'."

"I know he's suffered a bad childhood," said Narcissa, sighing sympathetically. "You can't blame him. The world was unfair to him."

"So he had to pay back twice as much hate as the world gave him? Isn't that like two little wizards in the sandbox? Doesn't that seem so—_immature_? I question the value of the Death Eaters these days." Severus didn't seem to be quite as surprised as Narcissa when a ghostly, green-tinted hologram of the baby rose above the cauldron, and began to fade into character.

"You were a Death Eater," reminded Narcissa. "Why are you quitting, anyway? It's not too bad being in it…"

Severus didn't reply; his eyes were cast intently on the hologram, and he watched as it began to shape into a real person. Narcissa said no more, and watched as well. 

The hologram baby began to turn three dimensional, starting from the feet up. Narcissa was more concerned of the real baby's safety rather than the eerieness of a hologram turning into a living baby. 

"It's done," said Severus dully, stirring his cauldron one more time. "That's your clone. Where are you going to keep your original baby, meanwhile?"

"I was kind of hoping that you'd take her," said Narcissa weakly, holding the clone baby in her arms. "It's not such a good time right now to look for a baby-sitter you know—it's the last favor I'll ever ask of you. I know you hate—are unable to handle babies."

"You want _me_ to take your little mutt?" Severus fished a very curious and goggle-eyed baby out of the cauldron, her skin dripping with the green potion. "Ew, it needs a change of diapers and a bath."

"It's way past her bedtime—newborns are easy to put to sleep. Just sing a tune or something," said Narcissa, half-teasing, as she couldn't quite put the image of Severus humming a goodnight song to a newborn baby in his hands. "And oh, you'll need to feed her, too. She's very hungry—hadn't had anything to eat in two hours."

"Two hours. Big whoop—what kind of food?" Severus looked at the baby with disgust. "I think I still have some of the baby formula that Athena left behind."

"That'll do," said Narcissa hurriedly, drawing up her cloak and hood. "If you could, I would ask you to breast-feed, but—" she shrugged teasingly, and left swiftly with the clone baby in her hands before Severus could muster up a decent sarcastic reply. 

***

"Can't you feed yourself?" snapped Severus, threatening the baby with his wand. "That's the baby bottle. Now go eat—drink—whatever it is that you do with that."

The baby looked innocently at him for a moment of thankful silence, but then started to continue its loud brawl again. "Oh god—if only Potter could see me now," Severus muttered, sweeping the baby into his arms and sticking the bottle nipple into the baby's mouth. 

"I have a daughter just like this, you know," he murmured. "Her name is Nike—she's living with her mommy in London. I haven't seen her a lot, but I'm sure she's just as annoying as you."

He drew his head up from the baby, and fully realized what he was doing. "Oh look," he said. "I'm talking to myself. I should probably put you down to sleep. If Narcissa weren't so desperate, I wouldn't be doing this, you know? You would probably be dead."

The baby pulled her face away from the bottle, and closed its eyes. She stayed that way for a moment, but her eyes fluttered open again, much to the displeasure of Severus. 

"Do you want me to sing to get you to sleep?" Severus half-snapped, sighing. "Oh all right, if it'll get you to sleep." He looked around, half-expecting the Marauders to be sniggering wildly at his windowsill. 

"_Bellus venustus incuriosus ac libero_

Nare meus pulchitudo nare cum mihi

Per pratum au Catyree

Per flumen au Nile

Nare meus pulchellus nare cum mihi

Meus ferox angelus nare cum mihi," he sang softly, feeling extremely foolish as he rocked the newborn in his hands. The baby cooed softly, and fell asleep shortly. Severus placed her in Nike's old crib, and settle to an uneasy sleep in his own bed.

***

"Narcissa, do you have the baby?" Lord Voldemort's fingers tapped on his seat uneasily, which was extremely uncommon for such a powerful wizard as him. "I trust the parents were co-operative?"

Narcissa shook her head sadly, planning her excuse carefully. "No, my Lord, I was forced to kill Xandra and Adonis. They simply refused to hand over the baby, and put up quite a struggle. Carefully set wards, booby traps guarded their houses, and anti-Disapparation charms were placed on the grounds. It took quite a while for me to disarm them all."

"They were rather very prissy about security," said Lord Voldemort. "The mutt is dead?"

Narcissa nodded quickly, and pulled out the dead clone baby from her cloak. "It needed a combination of the Vampire Death spell and Avada Kedavra to fully kill it. It's half-vampire and half-Mudblood."

"She was a good Death Eater," he said, shaking his head, showing a side of him to Narcissa that he had never shown to anybody. "She was part-Angox, did you know? She was one of the few left in the world. Athena Jyers—Snape's new wife, was a Seer also. A group of Death Eaters are off to kill her right now, for if they produced a child, the result will be tragically dangerous. James and Lily Potter's child has too much a chance of being Angox. For now, I must remain the only Angox in the world."

"Yes, my Lord. I trust you have planned out the raid?" Narcissa knew better to ask him if everything was planned, for Lord Voldemort must've been the most organized and planned Dark Lord there ever was.

"Of course—you may not join us. Goodbye now, then, Narcissa, and send Lucius my gratitude." He tapped his chair again, and Narcissa Disapparated to her manor.

***

Athena looked at the watch exasperatedly, patting her daughter's soft hair appreciatively. "Honey, it's all right, okay? Daddy will be home tomorrow, all right? We'll go see him tomorrow. All right Nike baby, all right?"

The baby cooed, but shook her head continuously and brawled again. Athena massaged Nike's back lovingly, but it didn't help with the volume of Nike's crying. "Please, baby, please stop crying," she murmured softly. "Mummy has a headache."

"It's all right, all right, baby, Shh… It's time for your nap, isn't it?" she rocked Nike back and forth in her arms, and started to hum a familiar tune.

__

Bellus venustus incuriosus ac libero

Nare meus pulchitudo nare cum mihi

Per pratum au Catyree

Per flumen au Nile

Nare meus pulchellus nare cum mihi

Meus ferox angelus nare cum mihi

"It's safe now," she said, drying her tears. "It's safe now, baby." She took a deep breath, as if it would've cleansed of all the sorrow she was feeling that very moment. Nike was now sleeping peacefully, and safely in the magic-proof and magically hidden room. Athena left swiftly after being sure to secure the lock and make sure it was hidden again.

"They'll never get her," she whispered to herself, humming happily to the kitchen, fixing herself some early lunch. 

From her kitchen window, she could sense a foreign presence—an evil presence. No Muggle motion sensor could've had a better sensitivity to foreign things than she did—the Seer's conscience needed nothing to fuel it, and was more reliable than anything else. 

_You can't hide from this anymore. Go out. Go out, let them take you. They'll never get Nike—what's the point of running away and hide? They'll get you anyway—they always do._ _It's your time. You can feel it, can't you? You can feel your death now. But they'll never get Nike. You can feel that, too can't you? There's no use in trying to befuddle destiny—look where it got you with Severus and Sirius._

Smiling contently yet bizarrely, Athena sipped on her tea and tapped her fingers against the kitchen counter, humming the haunting and familiar tune. "They'll never get her," she repeated under her breath against the heavy silence.

Not surprisingly, several moments later, her front garden had been ripped through carelessly by a mob of Death Eaters, their wands pointed out and marching bravely to her front door, one of them with a magical compass in hand to help navigate through the big mansion.

She sat in her kitchen; very still, her ears trained on the sound of the approaching footsteps and jeers. "Come and get me, boys," she whispered, a bizarre smile lighting up her features. "Come and get me but you'll never find her."

They had already stepped into the kitchen when Athena stood up. "Hello Death Eaters," she greeted calmly. "Care for a cup of tea?"

"Athena—you know who we are here for. Your death and the death of your children," explained the head Death Eater, cloaked in black. "Our Lord has sent specific instructions to destroy your mansion."

Athena threw her head back, and laughed. "You'll never destroy this old house. And as for Nike, you'll never even find her. I've made it impossible. Do you now how many things you can see and hear by being a Seer? It's utterly, utterly, impossible, just like my Sevvie."

"Athena—you have grown to be an old, useless, woman. Your life is no longer of worth to us," said the Death Eater calmly, swirling his wand impatiently at her. "Any last words?"

"You'll never find her," she whispered hoarsely. "Kill me and you won't find her. Let me live and you still won't find her. I can see what kind of rut you're in right now," she added, smiling. 

"_Avada Kedavra_." Green light issued from the Death Eater's wand and hit Athena directly, making her now lifeless body and fumble to the floor with a startle. The Death Eater walked over to her body, and saw that she still had the insane smile on her pale face. 

***

_Oh my god. How'd I let this happen?_ Severus fumbled in his pockets his wand for a few moments, locking every door in his small house. The baby, whom Narcissa had to name Althea, was thankfully already taken away. _Go, go, go…_

_You let this happen to them. You were supposed to take care of them… you killed them. _ He Apparated quickly with a pop, finding himself under the shadows of a mansion. _Damn it. Damn it, damn it damn it. Her Anti-Apparation wards are off... they've gone through here. Damn it. Damn it. _

As he walked through the ransacked house, his first fear was that Athena had let them take Nike—or worse, they had already found her. The first was more likely, since true Seers had unnatural will—but the will often crossed the line between "bravery" or "courage" and "stupidity".

The second was unlikely—Athena had been one of the top students in her year, and her magic was strengthened only by her Seer's will and Seer abilities. Her spells were complicated, hard to break, and often combined more than one area in the magical field. He couldn't help but remind himself of that time she had jokingly turned Lucius Malfoy into a moose that constantly spoke a riddle—unless the riddle was broken, Lucius remained a moose. Unfortunately, Professor Dumbledore had solved it in less than a minute.

He ventured further into the main kitchen, whereupon he found the rigid, lifeless yet smiling body of Athena Jyers. He felt her hand, and took it into his own palm before leaving swiftly to the top floors.

His heart was pounding as he raced up the spiral stairs; everything else was a blur. The destroyed, valuable paintings that now hang crookedly on the walls got no attention from him as he finally reached the top floors. "She's there, she's there," he repeated to himself, feeling foolish as he crossed his fingers in that muggle way for good luck. 

His hands gripped the wall, his head a cesspool of confused emotions, and his heartbeat only calmed down when his hands gripped the doorknob of the hidden room. "They haven't found her," he said breathlessly, looking into the crib with amazement and relief.

"They haven't found you," he said, panting and nearly smiling when he saw the brawling baby's cries for food. He looked down and saw that Athena's charm necklace was still wrapped around Nike's neck, its chain twisted wildly. "Oh no," he groaned, picking the necklace off Nike gently, staring at it eerily.

"Oh no," he muttered again, watching as the sunlight bounced off the unnaturally reflective glass of the eagle-shaped, delicately made charm. The one thing that would've ruined the moment—finding that Athena had passed on the dreaded legacy to her only daughter.

Severus looked around again, sighing impatiently. This really wasn't like him—but it was his daughter, he had to remind himself. He was being too soft. Too—sentimental, and too uncharacteristically unreal. He stared out the window, and felt everything around him in a flash—how bright the room suddenly became, how very strange Athena's décor tastes were, and the calm beating of his own heart.

"I'm not a Death Eater anymore," he whispered hoarsely to himself. "I can't keep torturing myself like this any longer." He turned away, making a fist and feeling oddly calm. "I can't keep on going like this any longer." 

_So? You can't leave the baby there—it'll starve to death. It's the only chance of defeating Voldemort—_

**_Defeating_** Voldemort? Oh Lord. Look how dumb you've become. With Athena's mind, the baby will hardly be sane, let alone save the world... don't you know that that_ fate is destined for James Potter and Lily's baby, just like Athena's said? Don't count on trying to raise a hero, Severus, you're not going to make it. _

_So? Athena was a bit cuckoo. How do you know that she's telling the truth? _

"She's telling the truth all right," Severus whispered to himself, feeling as if he had just been sucked fully into Athena's world. A growing feeling that he was starting to become as crazy as Athena didn't make him feel any better.

"I can't keep you, you know," he snapped out loud, filling up the bottle magically. "It's too bad that you're going to grow up as a muggle." He stood mesmerized for a moment before he picked up the baby, irritated, and used the Floo powder to take him to his house.

***

__

**Six years later...(Not quite present-day yet)...**

"I assure you, Miss Rita Skeeter, I have never been involved in any kind of Dark activity, neither has my family. Our proud wizarding name Malfoy still demands a certain degree of respect," said Lucius Malfoy. "I am insulted by your accusations."

"But Mr. Malfoy, there is conclusive evidence—"

"Our family _has never been involved_ in _any_ kind of Dark activity, nor has our ancestors. I suggest you leave immediately, for my son and I are wanted in the Dueling Room."

"Mr. Malfoy, please, will you at least try to deny the evidence? I need something _more_ controversial for my first article," insisted Rita Skeeter. She tapped her horn-rimmed glasses frantically, and a quill appeared in her hand. "Please, Mr. Malfoy."

"Leave," hissed Lucius. "Leave before I blast you out."

Rita cocked an eyebrow, but gathered up all her papers frantically and Disapparated out of the manor.

"Nosy reporter," he snorted. "The Prophet's getting worse and worse.... all those idiotic interns are ruining the paper." 

Narcissa Malfoy hurried into the living room, with a platter full of cookies and pumpkin juice. "Oh dear—she left? Lucius, you didn't blast her—"

"Don't tell me what I can and I cannot do," he hissed, overturning the platter with clang. The jug of pumpkin juice crashed on the floor, staining the white carpet. "I'm going now to try to teach our stupid idiot of a son some common sense in a duel. Clean this mess up."

Narcissa didn't move until Lucius had left. She sighed wistfully, and bent down to sweep the cookies into a pan and magically clean the carpet. Ever since Draco had been born, Lucius had made it a goal to make Narcissa's life more miserable than ever—his unforeseen violent outbursts, the destruction of so much china... everyday his anger increased. It seemed nearly impossible for him to be calm.

***

"No, no, no, Draco—point your wand like _this_-- you're doing this all wrong. Look like you mean it, damn it...you're a _Malfoy_..." Lucius droned on and on about the form of Draco's cursing position, and continuously repositioned him. "Good. Now for the actual cursing. Point your wand exactly at the girl's head—"

"Father—does she have to be hurt?" The small Draco Malfoy looked up with warm, gray eyes, full of compassion.

"Yes. You must not care about your victims, young Draco—this is a lesson I will repeatedly teach you. You must not care about anyone you are to use for your own good—"

"Why?" 

"It's just the way the world is—if you let yourself be used, you are nothing but a weakling, young Draco. I will not have you embarrass our family name like that. I will not have you show any weaknesses. That will be easy because you will have no weaknesses, Draco." Lucius pinched Draco's arm, snapping the young boy back to the cursing position.

"Father," Draco quivered, his whole body shaking. "Father, father. Must I do this?"

"It is for your own good. The incantation is _torqueo_. Tor-queo. Make sure you get it right—your wand directly at the girl. Yes, that's right—say the words."

"_Tor—Torqueo._" Draco shuddered and bit his lip uncertainly as the girl, a practice target Lucius had hired for his son, cried out in pain. She was no more than six years old, the same age as Draco.

"Son—you show no compassion, you receive no resistance. The more you don't show, the more you can get back from the world. Remember that." Lucius smiled coldly, reshaping Draco's cursing position.

"Alright Father—if it – if it pleases you." Draco closed his eyes for a moment, and when he reopened them, he smiled innocently. "I'll try it again, Father."

This time, Draco stared at the girl with coldness in his eyes, pointing his wand at her. "_Torqueo_. " The girl made an effort to keep silent, but she failed—a bloodcurdling shriek rose from her, and she sank down to the floor to wince in pain.

"Will she be okay?" Draco whispered.

"Never show compassion," snapped Lucius. "This will be enough for the afternoon. You may be dismissed to your room."

Draco, slinking back and his eyes set on the girl wincing in pain, walked out of the dueling room reluctantly. It took him about five minutes to navigate through the manor to his room. When he arrived there, the climbed onto his four-poster bed and buried himself in the pillows.

He had been sniffling for quite a while when he realized that there was someone standing at the door. He stood up, wiping his face, and turned to look, hoping sincerely that it wasn't his father.

He was quite surprised—it was the girl that he had been practicing curses on. The girl was innocently curious staring at Draco, with a goofy smile on her face. "Meowie? Why is Little Master crying?"

"Oh. You—I'm sorry if I hurt you. I was only following my father's rules. Disobeying him would be scary," he admitted, his gray eyes rimmed with redness.

"I see. So Father very mean to Little Master?" the girl looked very concerned. She held out a hand. "My name is Althea, Little Master. I know your father is very bad man."

"Father isn't a bad man," insisted Draco. "Father is very strict, that's all. Father isn't a bad man."

Althea shook her head and smiled. "Little Master must be blind, for Father is a bad man."

"Don't say that about my father, ever again," he hissed, in that way Lucius Malfoy had always threatened his wife. "He is _not_ a bad person. You _deserve_ to be a practice target. You're nothing but a _weakling_." 

The girl looked somewhat taken back and angry, but her lips formed a superior smile. "See—now you're even talking like him! You'll be another Luke-us Mah-foy in no time!"

"No, I'm not," Draco said, even though he had just noticed how much he sounded like his father: dominant, stubborn, and violent. "No I'm not," he repeated again, his voice much shakier.

Althea shook her head. "It won't be too bad, Little Master. You'll get to have your own house-elf. Dobby is a very nice elf."

"I _won't_ be like my father," insisted Draco. "Who do you think you are, telling me that? You're at the worth of a house-elf right now. I get more say in this household—"

"That's Luke-us talk," said Althea, nodding. "That's Luke-us talk, Little Master. You will be exactly like your father."

"No I _won't_. What are you doing here, anyway? You're _supposed_ to be my practice target. Go practice!" Draco pointed to the hallway, and was about to push the girl out when she put a comforting arm around Draco and smiled.

"You are sad, Little Master. You need to be comforted. That's what my mummy always says."

"Your mummy allows you to be used as a practice target?"

"My mummy is a muggle," said Althea sadly. "I am doing this because I wanted to know what'd it be like to live inside a castle."

"You're a Mudblood? No wonder my father hired you," said Draco, making a face and brushing Althea's hand off.

"Don't call me that," threatened Althea. "I am not a Mudblood. My veins have nothing but blood—no mud. No mud at all. Wanna see?"

"I don't want to grow up like my father," said Draco sadly. "But I'm calling people Mudblood and I don't even know what it means. Am I going to grow up like my father, Althea?"

"No, no, Little Master—see, my mummy grew up like her mother, who is the meanest grandmummy ever—but my mummy isn't the least bit mean at all. She is a very nice mummy, indeed." She smiled innocently.

"So I won't grow up like my father?" Draco seemed to lighten up at the thought. "Father is a very mean man. Father isn't a bad person."

"No, no, you won't at all, Little Master. Can I be your friend? Mummy is always saying that I don't have any friends, and I'm sure you would impress her."

Draco thought about it for a moment—Lucius would never find out—but there was always that annoying voice in the back of his head that kept on repeating, "She's a Mudblood. She lives with Muggles. She's a _MUDBLOOD_! She lives with _MUGGLES_!"

"Okay. All right. My father hasn't said that I can't have friends yet," said Draco uncertainly. "All right. We can be friends. You can come and visit and play anytime you want after my dueling lessons."

"Oh wow. That sounds like fun," said Althea, genuinely impressed. "Will I get hurt again?"

"I'll try not to make it too extreme," promised Draco.

They stared at each other, smiling in the way that little children do, and didn't notice when Lucius Malfoy had finally peeked his head out of his hiding spot. "That is it," he said, gritting his teeth. "You. Mudblood—are fired. You will _never_, _ever_ come near the Malfoy Manor nor talk to us—ever-- again." He didn't even bother to pull out his wand—he jerked Althea's collar, and dragged her out.

"Oh, father, father, you are a bad man," said Draco sadly, watching as the little girl was dragged out. He made no move to stop his father as he watched him. 

***

"Oh, Lucius—who did you fire this time?" Narcissa had grown exasperated of all Lucius' firing sprees, and found it quite hard to replace the staff. 

"The little Mudblood of Draco's," Lucius said, through gritted teeth. "Young Draco is growing too compassionate. The Mudblood had promoted all of it."

"What was her name?" asked Narcissa curiously.

"Althea. Why?" 

Narcissa froze—Althea, Xandra's baby—she had never even told her own husband what had happened at the Sinclair's house. "No-nothing. Where will the child go?"

"Oh, she's living in some trashed, filthy Muggle foster home," Lucius said, glaring curiously at his wife. "Why? Are you thinking of rescuing her from the poor hellhole?"

"No-no. I wasn't thinking of anything like that—I was just... curious." Narcissa left the room quickly, heading for her own private chambers, leaving a quite angry and curious Lucius behind.

***

**_Present day..._**

"All this time, they're finally getting rid of me!" Althea screamed, shoving the letter under her bed and stomping her foot angrily on the ground. "They torture me for a year, and _kick me out!_" she said again, softly.

"Oh god, they can't do this to me," she cried softly, crumbling the letter in her hand and burying herself in her pillow.

_To Miss Althea Zane:_

Due to unforeseened events, we regret to inform you that you are officially discharged from Beauxbatons School of Magical Arts. All three parties (your professors, the headmistress, and your muggle foster parents) approved of this decision.

We have already taken care of your next school of the magical arts. Professor Dumbledore of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has kindly decided to accept you. Please be reminded that their school year starts a month later than ours, so you can expect your letter near July.

We are pleased you have chosen to continue your journey through the world of the magical arts.

Kendall Jardin

Head Deputy Headmistress

Beauxbatons School of Magical Arts

The letter burst into fire, and a minute later, there was a pile of ashes left on Althea's bedroom floor. "They just won't admit that they're scared of me," she whispered to herself. "They just won't admit that they're afraid that I'm going to bite someone. Carry on the 'dishonor' of being half-vampire. Oh god, this is so _stupid_. They just _won't_ admit it."

"I am _not_ a rag doll for them to play around with!" she screamed, throwing her pillow against the wall, scrunching her face to try to stop the force of tears she felt coming on. "_They can't treat me like this!_"

There was a moment of peaceful silence when she stared out the window, blanking out. She turned away, rubbing her face furiously, wiping away the tears angrily. "Oh god. I should really be getting used to this now… First was Abernathy's, now this."

***

__

"Harry—good thing you're here now. Coeur's coming in ten minutes—last time she was here, Bill and her were all over each other." Ron made a disgusted look, receiving a scolding look from the pouting Bill dressed in leather.

Harry dusted off his robes, and smiled. An array of pleased and relieved smiles greeted him, and he knew immediately that this summer was going to be as good as the last. Hermione and Ron, however, weren't greeting him normally—well they had said hello, but it seemed as if they were not speaking to each other. When Hermione reached in to give Harry a friendly hug, Ron jerked his head away and started to leave the room.

"What's with you two?" He asked curiously, after being comfortably settled in Ron's room. "You haven't said a word to each other."

Hermione and Ron gazed at each other with intense fiery in their eyes, and Hermione looked as if she was about to snap at Ron, but something stopped her. Ginny was in her room, writing a letter, so she couldn't explain why the tension between Ron and Hermione was mounting so high.

"Nothing," stuttered Ron, "Nothing is _wrong_ with us, or at least, nothing is wrong with _me!"_

Harry rolled his eyes. "Obviously, _something_ is going on. Not even an idiot would believe the act you're putting on now. What's going on?"

Hermione pouted her lip, staring intently at Ron, and threw her hair back. Ron rolled his eyes. It looked as if he was about to open his mouth to say something, but he needn't have. Fred and George were skipping along the hall, bellowing on the top of their lungs.

"_There's a great story that I meant to tell you_

About Hermione, Ronniekins and snogging, too

Throw in the Weasleys and a warm day

What do you get?

Ronniekins kissed Hermione

Oh, oh, oh

Ronniekins kissed Hermione

Oh, oh, oh

Hermione went to hide in shame

Oh, oh, oh

Hermione went to hide in shame

Oh, oh, oh." 

Fred and George's singing wasn't pleasant, but they provided a logical explanation about the tension between Ron and Hermione. Harry raised his eyebrows, and Hermione and Ron both visibly reddened.

"I _see_," muttered Harry quietly, trying to stifle giggles he felt rising from his throat. "Will you two be talking to each other anytime soon?"

"Probably not—oh, his _stupid_ brothers, don't they ever shut and try to live a normal life?" Hermione snapped angrily, poking her head out in the hall, stamping her feet down.

"Don't tell them to—" Ron began.

Harry cocked an eyebrow Ron's way, but Ron ignored it promptly, though he hesitated slightly before continuing, "Don't tell them to shut up. They're _my_ brothers, and you have absolutely _no right_."

"Oh, right," said Hermione exasperatedly, "I suppose Harry has no right, either? What rights does he have that _I _can't have?" 

"Well," began Ron. "First of all, he's my _best friend_. You're my _ex-_best friend. It's obvious that he's going to have rights that you aren't going to have in this house."

Hermione smiled coldly. "You're only your _mother_'s son, you know. If you didn't want me here so much, why did you invite me in the first place?"

"Because you weren't such an annoying girl the time I invited you!" Ron began yelling, waving his hands in the air. "God! You would thought that in that complicated brain of yours—"

"_Stop it!_" Harry glared at both of them severely, and they both backed off. "You are _both_ going to give me headaches for the rest of my stay here. Can't you just—resolve your differences already? If I had known it would be like this, maybe I should've stayed with the muggles." He thought about what he had said—there was absolutely no truth in the last comment. The muggles were definitely the worse choice, no matter what happened.

"Sorry, Harry," mumbled Hermione. "I know our immature arguments are the last thing you need right now. We'll knock it off if it becomes too annoying."

"Look, you're both my best friends and I hate it that you're hating each other right now. Can't you at least try to be civil to each other?" Harry asked with a pleading look.

"We will," promised Ron. He sent an evil eye at Hermione, and curled his lip coldly. "We'll _try_."


	3. Cassandra

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

***

__

The things we don't know at all aren't meant to be known. The things that we know deep inside our hearts are meant to be admitted by our soul. The things we could know are only known if we truly look.

***

"Draco. Draco, are you listening to me?" Lucius Malfoy poked a finger in Draco's face, and shook him. Draco looked up to his father's face blankly.

"Yes father," he replied monotonously. "Yes father, I'm listening. What were you saying?"

"I said you must be careful this year at Hogwarts. Make sure that fool of a headmaster, Dumbledore doesn't discriminate against you—make sure you are not overlooked or ignored because you are part of a greater organization—the Death Eaters."

"I'm a Death Eater Jr.," said Draco, annoyed. "I'm not dumb—old enough to join the full one yet, Father."

Lucius didn't seem to hear him. He held a piece of glass in his hand and watched as the sunlight bounced off its reflective surface. "Do you know what this is, young Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "No, father."

"It's the thing that will destroy Harry Potter and the legacy that's been competing with the Death Eaters for years— Lord Voldemort will surely praise me for this object, for it will fulfil his greatest wish. It is the magical, prophesised necklace of Ravenclaw. Once I find the stone, Harry Potter will die." Lucius's lips curled into a cold smirk, his fingers tightening the grip on the necklace.

Draco leaned in for a closer examination—it seemed to be made out of sapphire, glossed over with glass. The chain was simple and furnished with a gold colour, but there were parts of it where the material had rusted, so he could tell it was made of some kind of metal.

"Necklace of Ravenclaw?" Draco snorted. "Is that some forgotten legend? Seems a long shot, doesn't it?"

"That's what you think," said Lucius quietly. "I have examined it carefully—every hour, it seems to change colours—exactly as it was prophesised. I do not doubt the great words of the famous prophesier Cassandra, young Draco, and neither should you."

"Cassandra? You believe the old bat?" Draco sneered, folding his arms. "Why are you so sure it's just not a charm on the necklace? How do you know you're not being fooled?"

"I cannot be fooled," said Lucius, anger rising in his voice. "I am certain. All I need is the stone of Hufflepuff—then Harry Potter will die." He rubbed a finger over the necklace, and slipped it into his robe pocket. "And I need you to find it for me, young Draco. It is your first assignment for me as a Death Eater."

"The stone of Hufflepuff? Where am I supposed to find that?" Draco made a face and tapped his fingers idly against the window.

"Pay attention," demanded Lucius. "When the stone and the necklace collide, it will be the end for Harry. You must find that stone—to find the stone, you must visit the burial grounds."

"Burial grounds?" sputtered Draco. "Burial grounds?"

"The burial grounds of the Four Founders," repeated Lucius impatiently. "I will take you there, but you must find it. Helga Hufflepuff was said to have buried it somewhere near there—you will find it."

"Exactly why do we want to kill Harry Potter anyway?" It was something that he had meant to ask for a long time—he knew Harry was a hairy, idiotic git and everything, but it didn't seem like a good enough reason for Lord Voldemort to be chasing after him.

"He has too much of a chance of being an Angox," Lucius said. "His mother was believed to be a full Seer— it was confirmed that she was 1/4th Angox, though. James—that idiot—was 1/4th, too. You don't need to guess that Harry's ½."

"I can add, you know," said Draco irritatedly. "And what's an Angox?"

Lucius sighed. "Your younger generation has been heavily cloaked with ignorance. Angox is an older term for – what do you call them these days? Syrens?"

Draco's sceptical attitude was gone in his tone of voice. "Syrens? Harry Potter may be a Syren?"

"Not a full one, young Draco. Do not be so surprised. Haven't you seen him perform extremely difficult spells, even for full-grown wizards? Have you not ever suspected that he was moving things without meaning to? Of course, a full one would destroy instead of simply move things." 

"No wonder," Draco repeated silently with awe. "How will it kill him?"

"Ask no more questions," snapped Lucius. "I shall take you to the burial grounds in two hours. Prepare for it, Draco. It will be the most important mission you shall ever have."

***

"What are you doing today?" asked Nike groggily, poking at her cereal unenthusiastically "Ew, what is that?" 

"I have some business I must attend to," said Severus, ignoring Nike's comment. "What are you doing today?"

"What I do everyday. Nothing." She sighed heavily and looked up to his eyes hopefully, as if she wanted to be included in whatever Severus was doing.

"What do you want me to do about that? What am I supposed to do, make friends for you?"

"You could at least introduce me to the neighbors or something, you know..."

"I don't talk to those idiots. Ever."

"Aw, come on, please?"

"No. You make up your own activities for the day and I shall make my own. I have a meeting planned at noon and I shall return in the afternoon. Whatever you do between those times isn't my business," said Severus sternly, not expecting a response.

"Apparently you haven't taken many lessons in fatherhood," muttered Nike silently under her breath. Severus apparently didn't hear her, as he was finishing his toast with large bites.

"Really, what am I going to do today? I've done nothing for the whole past month. Flobberworms are leading much more interesting lives than me," pleaded Nike desperately. 

"Again, your business, not mine," said Severus harshly, grabbing his cloak and pulling out his wand. "I have to go now. Whatever you do during the day is your choice. I've left you some money, but it's for the whole week so don't spend it right away. When you go out, lock the windows and doors—"

"I have no friends here. I doubt you can take me to see Draco Malfoy again. I have no where to go!" Nike was yelling now, but Severus didn't seem to hear her. He left swiftly and shut the door softly behind him.

Nike scoffed and thumped around angrily, crashing down onto the sofa, pulling out the Hogwarts schoolbooks she had been reading for the last month. Severus's stash of Dark Arts books seemed a little suspicious and she avoided them with all costs, as if she were afraid to invade his privacy. 

There were more than Dark Arts books that made Nike suspicious of Severus—there was also the locked, rusty old box buried in his backyard. She had looked through her Ancient Runes textbook, but it was impossible to match any of the strange symbols to the ones in her book.

Severus, on the outside, didn't seem to be the kind of person to keep a shattering, life-threatening secret, but you couldn't always judge things on what they seemed to be. After all, Nike thought, he was secretive enough to have kept her mother's identity from her all these years.

***

"Does anybody want to play Quidditch?" asked Harry hopefully, slightly surprised at how silent the Weasleys and Hermione were being. They had not said a word to each other during breakfast, and they all looked quite gloomy and depressed.

"Uh, Harry—it's not really the right time," explained Hermione uncertainly, biting her lip as if to keep herself from saying more. "Maybe we should—wait a while?"

"Wait a bit? Huh—" Harry was about to ask Hermione if she really implied that she would be playing, but Bill cut him off.

"Professor Dumbledore is coming over, Harry," he said quietly. "He needs to talk to you."

The grim tone of Bill's voice told Harry that Professor Dumbledore wasn't coming to the Burrow to say that Lord Voldemort had been finally defeated for all eternity. His face dropped and all the Weasleys and Hermione stared at him anxiously, as if there were something seriously wrong.

"He needs to talk to me?" Harry repeated. "Why?"

"He just—needs to talk to you dear," said Mrs. Weasley, biting her lip. "Nothing to worry about. He's coming at noon, so you, Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione can play Quidditch until then."

Harry looked around at everyone's faces. Hermione was looking away, her eyes transfixed on the Weasley's grandfather clock, her hands clenched in fists, as if she were sincerely hoping for something. Ron was fidgeting nervously and looked as if he didn't know quite how to act under the circumstances. Even Fred and George looked serious.

"Is it about Voldemort?" he asked finally, slowly.

It was as if his words had cut an open wound in the silence. Hermione looked uncertain, and the Weasleys were all staring at him with unbelievable shock.

"Say You-Know-Who," said Ron, his voice quivering.

"No....Harry...it is not about...him." Mrs. Weasley began biting her lip uncertainly and propped herself up against the counter. "It's alright Harry, you don't need to worry about him while you're here."

"It's alright," whispered Harry. "I know what's going to happen, Mrs. Weasley—you don't need to pretend." The melodrama of his voice was a shock to everybody. He looked around quietly, eyeing each person carefully and sighed. "I mean it. Please, don't try to pretend anymore."

"We're not pretending," argued Ron, his voice quieter than usual. "Harry, we're just… concerned. We don't want you to worry about it so much while you're here."

"You're pretending that it's not happening," replied Harry, strangely calm. He hadn't planned on mentioning it, but the strange mood that had overtaken him was more than overpowering. "You haven't mentioned a word of Cedric's funeral ever since I've gotten here. Hermione, I know you know that I got an invitation over the summer."

They simply all stared at him blankly, and even Hermione was at a loss for words. 

***

Draco stared at his environment blankly, trying to take in all the wonders and strangeness all at once. The yew trees rustled in the slight breeze, and cut through his cloak.

"This is where the Four Founders are buried?" he said in awe, his gray eye sweeping over the flat landscape. "I thought they were rich."

"This place was considered very expensive in the old wizarding days," explained Lucius, wrinkling his nose with slight disgust. "You have a map, don't you?"

Draco stared at the piece of paper with a bunch of what seemed to look like chicken scratches.

"Good," said Lucius. He smiled coldly at Draco and Apparated without another word.

Draco swept his eyes over the landscape again, and felt himself shudder as he read the words on the gravestone,

"_Here lies Helga Hufflepuff_

Second of the Hogwarts Four

Forever missed, forever loved

Fidelitas, Amicitia, Ultio ultionis."

He didn't know Latin very well, but he was pretty sure that the first word meant "loyalty." It was sewn onto the label of everything he owned: "Superbia, Vinco, Fidelitas", the words on the Malfoy family emblem. 

"Loyalty," he muttered. "Of course. How Hufflepuff-y." He stared at the grave, its words carved primitively in old, Gothic lettering. A pile of ashes lied in front of the gravestone, and he sniffed and smelled the fading scent of roses. "Roses?" he asked aloud.

He felt the pile of ashes, and knew it wasn't a pile of ashes after all. It was a pile of burnt roses—the petals had shriveled up but the scent was intoxicating. A fundamental instinct told him to dig. He brushed aside the burnt rose ashes, feeling for anything that might've been the 'stone of Hufflepuff.'

He didn't feel anything under his fingers. Instead, he bit his lip to keep himself from getting up and walking away. The grave felt a bit creepy, especially the yew trees that crinkled every time a breeze swept over the gravesite.

Finally deciding that there was nothing interesting at Hufflepuff's grave, he moved to Slytherin's grave. He gave a little smile before attempting to read the fading and peeled letters on the gravestone.

"_Salazar Slytherin,_

A great man of his word

First of the Hogwarts Four

A lesson to us all

Fidelitas, Ultio ultionis, Superbia."

Draco gave out a little snicker. It was exactly as he thought it would be—the inscription could've been taken both ways, just as the real Salazar could've been.

However, there was something under his inscription that was beaten by the weather. It looked as if the inscription hadn't been that well carved anyway, almost as if the carver hadn't intended anybody to read it properly.

"Loved and haunted forever by—" he murmured, pressing his finger against the gravestone. "Forever haunted? By who? What kind of a thing is that to put a gravestone?"

"By whom, my dear. You mean by whom."

***

"Harry? Do you need help with your –uh, homework?" Hermione knocked nervously on Ron's door, where Harry had been for the last hour. Ron and the rest of the Weasleys were nervously anticipating the arrival of Dumbledore, each doing their own activity somewhere downstairs

"If you want," mumbled Harry, looking up to her with quickly dried eyes. "I'm sorry for the—outburst, if that's what you want to talk about. I don't know what's gone over me."

"It's just hitting you now, isn't it?" asked Hermione carefully, as if the slightest error in wording the question would blow up the world.

"Maybe," murmured Harry, rubbing his eyes furiously. "I don't know. I'm just so sick of people pretending that everything's going to be all right. It's not. I know it's not. I know I'm going to eventually die—"

"Don't talk like that!"

"Why not? You're a Muggle-born, you know. Why should I even bother be friends with you if you're eventually just going to be killed by a group of crazy psychos armed each with a piece of wood?"

"Harry, relax! It's not going to happen. Dumbledore…he owled me this summer. I'm going to be okay, Harry, really, I am."

"He owled you? You're really going to be—okay?" asked Harry, quieting the rising bubble of frustration and anger in his chest.

Hermione chewed her lip uncertainly, and threw her arms around Harry, hugging him tight. "I'm going to be okay, Harry. What I'm worried about is if you're going to be okay."

"Eventually," he replied, his voice a bit muffled. "Eventually, Hermione. Eventually I'll be okay again."

***

"By whom, my dear. You mean by whom."

Draco spun around wildly, searching for the source of the voice. "What...?"

"By whom, my dear. You were using improper grammar. You do attend school, don't you? They don't teach things like that anymore. Now they've got all this Arithmancy and Ancient Runes riffraff."

Draco was kneeling down, looking upwards to the tired eyes of an old, elderly looking woman. "I didn't know people lived here."

"I don't, sweetheart. I simply enjoy strolls here every now and then." The woman smiled, brushing aside a strand of her bright silver hair. "These graves calm my sick heart."

Strongly suspecting that he was speaking to a Muggle, Draco coughed and stood up. "You know about the Founders?"

"Why, in my days at Hogwarts, they had a class separate to learn about the Founders Four. Quite enjoyable, it was—always did like that Professor Maglock. A cute one, he was." The woman smiled brightly, walking towards Draco with an outstretched hand. "I've never seen you around here before."

"That would be because I'm not of one who thinks that taking walks to a creepy old crappy gravesite is relaxing."

The woman frowned. "You've got that kind of new generation attitude, son. And I don't like it."

Draco sneered, taking a closer look at the woman. Her silver hair reached all the way down to her waist, and a few strands were neatly tucked behind her ear. She wore very old and shabby robes of pale green, and he was very surprised to see that she was barefoot. She was supporting herself with an old cane. 

"Respect your elders. Where _are_ your manners?" The woman threateningly waved her cane in his face. "Honestly, the generations are becoming more and more degrading—"

"_Excuse_ me? _I'm_ a _Malfoy_."

"_I_ wouldn't care if you were the direct descendant of Merlin himself," the woman snapped. "You shouldn't _talk_ that way to your elders."

"I repeat what I just said. I'm a _Malfoy_."

"Malfoy or no Malfoy, I _demand_ an apology." The woman poked her cane threateningly in Draco's face, and he sneered, unimpressed.

"You _dare_ hit me with that? I thought you were _magical_."

"Oh, but it _is_ magical, my dear," the woman said brightly, smiling. "See, my husband works at Hogwarts and he confiscates items from mischief-makers. This cane emits a Stunning spell."

Draco froze and paused to stare at the cane –it _did_ seem strangely familiar. If Filch, who was the only one who could've had the full power to confiscate items and be allowed to keep them, had really confiscated that—then didn't it mean that this was Filch's _wife_?

"_You're_ Mrs. Filch?" Draco stared again. Mrs. Filch seemed so much older than Filch himself.

"My _name_ is Patricia D'Argent-Filch," she snapped. "I prefer you call me Ms. D'Argent-Filch."

"So you _are_ Mrs. Filch." Draco stared at her with amusement—Filch had always been deadly afraid of Draco's father, even when he was not a governor of the school. "Has your husband ever told about a certain... Lucius Malfoy?"

Mrs. Filch looked as if she was thinking for a moment, and then she stamped her cane down on the ground and frowned severely. "You can't be his... _son_?"

"You should've paid attention when I told you I was a Malfoy," said Draco crossly.

Mrs. Filch bit her lip uncertainly, as if she didn't know how to react. She certainly did seem to be humbled though, thought Draco triumphantly. "What are you ... doing here?" she asked finally.

Draco paused before answering her question. "I'm—researching the Founders for an essay."

"An essay?" Mrs. Filch raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Doesn't your father just buy them for you? Or pay people to write them for you?"

"Watch it," warned Draco. "I'm not supposed to be associating with ... _your_ kind of people, so I can't been seen here with _you_. You need to disappear or something, _please_."

Mrs. Filch snorted. "Where are your manners, boy?"

"Would you _please_ leave?"  
She stared uncertainly at the Malfoy family emblem that was sewed upon Draco's robes, and tapped the ground with her wand grumpily, turning around and headed off into the direction of the forest of yew trees.

Draco smiled coldly, and looked down at Slytherin's grave, an ice-chilling chill running through him.

***

"Professor Dumbledore—come in," urged Mrs. Weasley, greeting the old man hastily. "Harry is having his doubts and I'm afraid—oh, Albus. It's been so hard on him. Does he have to do this?"

"It is purely his decision, Molly," replied Professor Dumbledore. "I am not threatening him with anything, but the boy has a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong—I trust that he will choose correctly. I hate to do it as well, Molly."

Mrs. Weasley invited him into the Burrow's small and crowded kitchen, where the other Weasleys were waiting impatiently with anxious faces. "Please, sit down, Albus. I'll go up and get him—oh no need, here comes him and Hermione now."

When Harry and Hermione had entered the kitchen, Ron's face darkened. Harry looked at Professor Dumbledore with pleading eyes, as if he were begging him to have good news instead of the bad news that he was expecting.

"Hello, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore quietly, the usual twinkle in his eyes gone. It had been gone for quite a while now, the events of the Triwizard Tournament had occurred.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore. You—have... news for me?"

"It does not give me pleasure to start off an already grim conversation with even more grim news, but there has been five more muggle attacks by the Death Eaters. One was particularly near your aunt and uncle's house, Harry." He pulled out a wrinkled _Daily Prophet_, with a big photo of a winking Dark Mark hovering eerily above a pile of rubble.

Harry immediately looked alarmed, even though he felt as though the Dursleys had deserved an attack so close to them. "How many were—killed?"

"10, Harry. The family was particularly big, and a Ministry witch was killed when trying to get rid of the hovering Dark Mark." The powerful aura that Harry had felt around Professor Dumbledore last year proceeding the events of the Triwizard Tournament was letting itself be known again.

Harry said nothing.

"I know you will have expectations for the assignment I am about to give you, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, clearing his throat. "I assure you, your safety will be our first priority and you do not have to participate if you do not wish to. However, I wish to repeat what I said to you last time—there will be a time where you have to choose between what is easy and what is right."

"You don't have to worry, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry quietly. "I will do whatever it takes."

Professor Dumbledore smiled sadly and sad down tiredly. "Harry, I had no doubt that you would choose that. However, I warn you—the assignment is dangerous, risky, and there might not even be a point to it after all. However, we cannot take the chance if there is a point."

"What is the assignment, Professor?" Harry asked, biting his lip. Hermione threw up a supportive smile and Mrs. Weasley was patting him on the back lovingly.

"Do you know the Legend of the Hogwarts Four, Harry?" Harry shook his head. "In the beginning, just after Hogwarts was founded, they had a problem. They didn't have the Hogwarts four—they had the Hogwarts five."

"Hogwarts—Five?"

"Hogwarts Five," repeated Professor Dumbledore, nodding. "Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Cassandra Craulin—they were all remarkable men and women of their time. However, they didn't have enough money to build five houses—Cassandra ended up 'sharing' a house with Helga Hufflepuff. But soon, she began to take no participation in the Hogwarts Founders activities—and she was kicked out. Of course, it's very hard to kick an original Founder out of their own school without causing much cursing and violence—but they had done it."

Professor Dumbledore paused, as if he were trying to decide whether Harry was ready to hear the next part. "Cassandra ended up cursing the school, and – somewhat like Salazar Slytherin, she had a secret place of the castle that no one knew about."

"So—it's another Chamber of Secrets?" asked Harry, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Of course not. Hogwarts only has room for one," said Professor Dumbledore lightly. "It's not quite a chamber, but it is believed to the – common room and dormitories of the house she never had. Cassandra Craulin was—a Seer and she had wish magic. It is very complex and it would take me years to explain it fully, but she had the ability to get whatever she wanted by simply wishing to the full extent of her heart and concentrating on it night and day, for at least a _year_.

"It is a troublesome power. Even though the Founders had no money for a fifth house, Cassandra created hers, purely magic. Unfortunately, it was right before she was kicked out of the group that she had fully created it. It may seem rather unbelievable to you, Harry, but I am sure you are used to that. The house is cursed."

"Cursed?" repeated Harry. "What kind of curse? Why wouldn't Cassandra just – wish for money?" He stole a glance at Hermione, and saw that her eyes were sparking wildly, a kind of smile on her face that she got only when something had clicked in her mind.

Professor Dumbledore sighed. "She wanted the house more than the money, Harry. We're not sure about what kind of curse. For all we know, it could be wish magic. The wish magic would stay effective... forever. There is no way to reverse it, unless the wisher wishes to remove it. Unfortunately, Cassandra's dead so we can't do that."

"So... what do _I _have to do with all this?" Harry was almost afraid to ask.

"The houses cannot be entered by one who does not have one of the Four Founders blood in their veins, Harry." Professor Dumbledore peered into Harry's eyes, looking very honest yet painstakingly desperate. "We need you to open the chamber before Lord Voldemort can gain entrance to Hogwarts through there, Harry."

Harry watched as the Weasleys flinched at the sound of his name, feeling very numb. Ron was looking at Harry sympathetically, while Hermione looked worried and deep in thought. 

Harry took a deep breath. "How would you know that I have Godric Gryffindor's blood?" 

" I… A lot of people have known it for a long time," said Professor Dumbledore quietly. "You won't go alone—we can't risk that. If we find any more, they shall attend with you—"

"Who else do you think is coming?" asked Harry quickly.

Professor Dumbledore sighed exasperatedly. "I can't tell you now, Harry. I will, however, let you know as soon as I find out. This mission is risky and requires careful planning, as we cannot afford for _anything_ to go wrong. Sealing off the chamber is _vital_ to protecting Hogwarts and the refugee camp I fear it will become."

Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the Weasley's old and stained kitchen counters. His mind was a whirling pool of confusion. He knew he would agree to do it, yet there was a part of him that wondered if he really needed to become the world's hero again. His life had been scarred enough last time—was he really dumb enough to do it again?

"Yes Professor," said Harry quickly, before he could think about it again. "Yes Professor, I'll do it..."

Professor Dumbledore smiled tiredly. "Harry, I'm giving you one last chance to recognize the kind of life you will lead from now on. It is not glamorous or easy. You are only a young child, but you are giving yourself up to very serious commitments. Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

Harry could feel Mrs. Weasley's soft hands on his shoulder, patting him worriedly. "You don't have to do this, Harry," whispered Mrs. Weasley softly. "Professor Dumbledore can get other people. You don't need to put yourself in danger again...."

Harry looked up to Mrs. Weasley's eyes, and felt a comforting sense of security. Here in the Burrow, he was loved. They truly cared about him and his safety. Yet he was one thing they would never understand – The Boy Who Lived.

"Yes Professor," he said again, nodding numbly. "I'm sure."

***

A/N: Whew. I hope that satisfies all you H/H shippers. Harry will get slightly angstier later on, and I promise at least a snog or two in the next three chapters.

Thanks to beta-readers Alcey and Quinn.

By the way, there's a mistake in the first chapter. Nike's hair colour is indeed auburn—I'm surprised my first beta-reader didn't catch it.

Thanks to all that reviewed the previous two chapters on FictionAlley: Al Fictionalley, Scarlet Phoenix Feather, Alcedonia Pravus, marleystar, AylaPascal, ShinigamiSunami Yuy, AVK aka Anastasia, Syvia, Caitlin Allyana, Rainlight, Lily Vance, and JiYoOn8o7. Those at Fanfiction.net: FireFinch, Stardust Firebolt, AL-I-Bus, and Admiral Albia.


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